


Take my Pain and Turn it Into Gold

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard AU, F/M, Modern Westeros, mentions of past abuse TW, mentions of violence TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 77,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: Years after Sansa's abduction, her safety is again at risk, and it's up to Jon Snow to keep her safe.--"Just so you know," Sansa tells him before she leaves. "You can't protect me."He raised an eyebrow. "Why can't I protect you?""Because you can't," she says simply, turning her back on him. "No one can protect anyone."--Title from: Champion by Barns Courtney





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts).



> I was just thinking of Ned Stark accidentally matchmaking Jonsa and.. this happened? It's much more angstier than I planned but I'm actually excited for this. This is going to be loooong (and heavy).
> 
> PS trigger warning will be updated as the fic progress so keep an eye on the tags for your own safety.
> 
> On that note, hope you guys enjoy! :D
> 
> [UPDATE:
> 
> To anyone who's interested, [here's a playlist I have for this fic.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYkSAUn4OEzoMtmmmfxsIs0ExHdNVcGA7) Have a listen if you'd like! :D ]

**Jon**

 

Jon runs a hand through his hair as he stared at the front page of the case file given to him.

"New assignment." That's what Commander Mormont told him when he came to his office for a debriefing earlier.

He sat back on his seat now, his heart beating wildly out of his chest as he glanced out the small window of the helicopter.

It sounded so simple when the Commander told it to him; impersonal. Just a new special case Jon's assigned to, because that's what he does. He gets the most complicated jobs and he gets it done quick and efficient.

But not this. This is -- this isn't his usual type of assignment. But for some reason, Ned Stark had personally requested him for this job.

He leans forward again, opening the folder with trepidation. On the front page is a brief summary of what he's expected to do, and attached on the side is a picture of a beautiful red-headed girl.

His new assignment.

If it wasn't for the name written underneath the picture, Jon wouldn't even recognize the girl as Sansa Stark. She looks immensely different from how he remembers her, but it's been years that he shouldn't be surprised, except --

Well, it hasn't been easy years for her. The file on his hand is enough to prove that.

He puts his hand over his eyes and tried to think for a second. In a few hours he'd be seeing her, and he's expected to have read this entire thing to know exactly what his job entails - but he just... can't.

A small part of him already knows what to expect. Four years ago, Sansa Stark went missing. There was no trace to follow at all and they'd thought she was dead.

Ned Stark was President at the time, and even with that power there was nothing any of them could do. She was just... gone.

Jon had been undercover with the Wildlings at the time, but he couldn't have done anything even if he wasn't a million miles away and on an important assignment.

But he'd kept an eye out and tried to keep an ear open for anyone who knew anything. There was nothing though, and it isn't until three years later that she resurfaced.

He's learned from Robb that even they don't know half of what happened to her. She wouldn't talk to any of them. Even her statement to the police had been limited, she didn't press charges on the guy who abducted her, only speaking about crimes she knows he'd committed, but none of the ones done to her.

With a heavy sigh, he flipped through the next page. It felt like he was violating her privacy just by reading this.

You have to read it, he tells himself. If he's to protect her, then he needs to know how.

The file doesn't tell him much more than what he already knows, but it is more detailed where Robb, when he'd told Jon about it years ago, had glazed over some facts.

There are pictures too; of Sansa's state when they'd found her, pictures of her bruises and medical records revealing signs of self-harm, broken bones and other wounds that have healed long before they found her.

He almost wishes he didn't know her; if that were the case, he'd at least be able to detach all his emotions from this. Keep his head clear and focused on the objective. Instead he keeps thinking of the sweet little girl who once tried to teach him how to dance.

How could this have been her fate?

It takes all his energy to read through the rest of her file, and if he thought what happened to her was horrible, then the aftermath is not much better.

She suffers from night terrors now and has become detached to everything she used to love. She doesn't have any friends, doesn't keep in touch with her old ones and doesn't interact with anyone.

She doesn't like to be touched, that's been stated clearly on her file. It's a trigger for her, and then the flashbacks come at any given time.

On the last few pages are the details on his job. Ramsay Bolton, the man who took her, has escaped from where he was being held, and after years of sending death threats to Sansa from prison, her safety is again at risk.

Jon's job is to keep her safe; to make sure that Ramsay Bolton doesn't get his hands on her. And Jon's got just the right set of skills to keep that from happening.

He's greeted at the airport by Jory Cassel, a man he knows as Ned Stark's most trusted employee, and they exchange quick pleasantries before heading to the car.

It's not a long drive to the Stark's estate, if anything it feels quicker. Too quick, he thinks as he now heads into Ned Stark's office.

Everything about this had been too quick for Jon to fully wrap his head around.

Yesterday, he'd just gotten back to base after being pulled out from his mission, and now he's back in Winterfell, the place he grew up in, tasked with protecting Sansa Stark from a man who means to harm her.

"Sir," he says as soon as he'd been given the go to enter Ned Stark's office.

"Agent Snow," he stood from his desk, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's nice to see you again, son. I hear you're an important asset to the Night's Watch."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, and he's glad he doesn't have to when Mr. Stark tells him to sit.

"I know this is not your area, Jon, and it is asking a lot from you," he told him grimly. "But there was no one else I could trust for this job."

Jon nodded. He didn't even think that this was asking a lot, not for a second. When he'd realized what the assignment was, his first thought was that he was just glad that he could do this for them. For Sansa.

When all of it had been happening, he was too far away to be any real help, and he'd been too preoccupied with his job to see what else he could've done. Now though, now he can help, and he'll make damn sure he does his job right.

"I understand, sir," he assured. "I'll do everything I can to keep Sansa safe, I promise you that."

Ned lets out a breath of relief, and Jon feels bad for him. What happened to Sansa must've weighed heavy on all of them.

"Any news on Bolton?" He asked, because it would help if they at least had anything on the guy.

"Nothing yet," he says gruffly, scratching his head. "It's been forty-eight hours, I'm afraid the trail on him is getting cold."

"And Sansa," Jon said slowly. "Does she know?"

Ned shook his head. "She's already been through a lot and still is going through a lot, I don't want to add to that."

Jon nodded. He can respect that, and might even agree with it a little. But it doesn't mean it would be right not to tell her.

From what he read on her file, she's hard to keep watch on. She doesn't like being followed around; she sneaks away from her bodyguards and doesn't listen to them. She makes it difficult to keep her safe.

It might help if she knows how important it is that she has guards on her on all times but that's not his call. He'd just have to find a way around it.

Ned Stark calls for her not soon after, and it makes Jon a little anxious. He doesn't know what to expect, and he's already too attached to the case for him to be professional.

When he sees her, all he wants to do is wrap his arms around her and tell her that she's safe, that he'll do absolutely everything to protect her, but he keeps reminding himself that her file states clearly that she doesn't respond well to being touched, that he stays right on the spot.

It's just as well, they weren't even close growing up. And if she can't bear even just the touch from her own family, then his is more unwelcome.

"So you're my new babysitter," she says once she's taken in the sight in front of her, staring at him with those blue eyes of hers.

Where it used to be bright and shiny, now her eyes only screamed mistrust and suspicion.

"Bodyguard," he corrects without thought. Facts are easier to deal with than emotions.

She only rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, no sign of the polite Sansa he was used to. "Come on, I'm supposed to show you to your room."

At some point he's going to have to stop trying to find the Sansa he used to know, he maybe shouldn't even look in the first place. Her file shows so painfully clear that that girl is gone, but --

How can he not wish that some piece of her remained? That the man who took her didn't break her and take all pieces of her?

"Just so you know," she said once they've reached his temporary room until they leave for Riverrun in a couple of days. "You can't protect me."

He raised an eyebrow, regarding her curiously. Ned Stark had been very clear about Sansa not knowing anything, and wanting to keep it that way, so Jon would like to know what she thinks he's here for.

"Protect you from what?" He asked.

"From whatever it is you think you can protect me from," she says with a wave of her hand. "Is it him? Is that why you're here? Is he after me?"

Her eyes are sharp on him now, and her face doesn't betray any emotion aside from the small falter in her voice when she said that last bit.

He ignored her question, not sure how he's supposed to respond to that. "If it is him," he says slowly. "Why can't I protect you?"

"Because you can't," she says simply, already turning her back on him. "No one can protect anyone."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In her sleep, she sees Ramsay.
> 
> "Sweet Sansa," he says, voice taunting as he smiled that slimy smile of his. "Do you want to play a game?"

**Jon**

  
No matter how tired Jon felt, sleep still evaded him. It's been hours since he'd told everyone good night, and yet there he was on his bed, mind still as active as ever.

He almost wishes he'd accepted Arya's offer to go out drinking, as a celebration of his coming back to Winterfell, but it didn't seem like a good idea, considering it's his first day on the job.

Well, technically, he hasn't started yet. It will officially start in a few days when they leave for Riverrun for Sansa's school, so for now he's just a guest at the Stark's. But still, that doesn't mean getting drunk is a good idea.

When he thinks about it, this job should be easy; straight-forward. Compared to most of the assignments he'd done in the past, it might even seem simple.

But being directly responsible for someone else's life is honestly a little daunting.

He'd led a team on a raid a few times before, and while he was responsible for all his men's lives, that was a different case. They were trained men who knew what they were getting into. The risk was part of their job.

But Sansa... she was just sixteen when it all happened four years ago. She didn't ask for any of it. And now her life is at risk once more.

It's unfair, and he wants to do everything in his capacity to make sure she doesn't go through any of it again.

But she doesn't seem to think that anyone's capable of protecting her.

 _You can't protect me,_ her words echo in his mind. _No one can protect anyone._

She sounded so sure of it, like someone had drilled that lesson into her.

And now everytime he shuts his eyes all he hears are those words and all he can see is her; bloodied and broken and -

A sudden scream coming from the next room snaps him out of his thoughts, and he sits up in surprise, alert.

His first instinct is to grab his gun and run to Sansa, because that's definitely her voice, but she'd warned him about this earlier.

It was just after dinner, they'd walked up to the fourth floor where their room is next to each other.

He didn't even know why she was staying up there. He remembers that all the Starks stayed on the third, but he didn't feel like he should ask.

He was standing awkwardly outside her door, wondering what to say, when she looked at him and said, "I have nightmares. I get loud, so - if I sound like I'm dying, it's just internally, so you don't have to worry. Put earplugs in when you sleep or something."

She'd shut her door on his face then, leaving him wondering exactly what she meant by that. He already knew from her file that she had night terrors but -- she gets loud? He didn't know it was bad enough that she thought he'd worry about it.

And he's hearing it now, the screams that makes goosebumps rise on his skin. How can anyone manage to sleep through this? And most of all, why would they? She sounds like she's in so much pain.

He walked out of his room and headed right in front of hers. The screaming only gets louder the closer he gets, and it's difficult to keep himself from bursting through her door and pulling her into his chest to comfort her.

 _Fuck_ , he needs to do something to help. Hovering outside her room can't be the only choice here.

 _But what can you do?_   
Defeated, he bumps his head on her door and shuts his eyes, jaw locked so tight as he kept listening to her scream and cry for help.

She'd told him, with not so many words, to ignore it. _Put an earplug in_ , she'd suggested. And it seems like it happens enough that everybody else does ignore it - but it doesn't feel right to him to just let her suffer through that alone.

He hears the moment she wakes up, and her screams turn into quiet sobs. Somehow that's what breaks him even more. It tugs at somewhere deep in him, hearing her like this, and he raises his hand to knock.

He does it softly, just to let her know he's there, and then he waits some more.

"I'm fine, Jon," she says after a beat, her voice hoarse. It's almost funny that she immediately assumed it's him, like he's the only stupid one to check on her. "Go back to sleep."

 _Like I can_ , he thinks. He's been unable to sleep precisely for this reason. Since her statement earlier, he'd been anticipating it.

"I'll just be right out here," he says instead, because he'll feel better if he's there. He won't be able to sleep now anyway, if he could before. "You go back to sleep."

He hears shuffling inside, and he doesn't realize what she's doing until he feels the door shake. He steps back before she opens it.

She gives him a strange look when she does and he manages to mostly avoid looking at her bloodshot eyes.

It hurts though, seeing her like that. Jon wants to give her a hug or some other way to comfort her, but he doesn't know what.

"You don't have to stand guard," she says, her voice raspy. "I'm fine."

No one who's heard her screaming would believe that, and it looks like she knows it too.

He shook his head. "I don't mind. Go back to sleep, Sansa, it might help if you know someone's keeping watch."

She rolled her eyes. "You can't protect me from my dreams, either." She sighed. "I'm not going back to sleep so one of us might as well get some."

 _Of course she isn't_ , he thinks, cursing himself for the stupidity.

"Have you, um - have you tried listening to music? While you sleep?" He asked awkwardly.

She raised an eyebrow. "I heard somewhere that it helped some peiple," he continued, feeling self-conscious to talk about it. "I know it probably sounds fake but - it could, um... work."

She's quiet for a second, playing with her fingers, as though internalizing it. "I did. Try, I mean. Nothing works aside from not sleeping."

He frowned. That can't be true, it just can't be. Not that he thinks she's lying but -- there has to be some way to help her get over it. It can't just be like this for her forever.

"I'm getting a drink downstairs," she said suddenly, taking him out of his thoughts. "Do you have to guard me with that too?"

He shook his head. "No," he told her, and before he could help himself, he adds, "But I can keep you company, if you want."

She studies him for a second, like she's not sure he means it, and then says, "okay."

 

 

  
**Sansa**

  
_In her sleep, she sees Ramsay._

_"Sweet Sansa," he says, voice taunting as he smiled that slimy smile of his. "Do you want to play a game?"_

_It's the first time she's meeting him and she hadn't been as afraid as she should've been. He liked that. She's something he could break._

_She doesn't respond to his question, merely eyeing him carefully and praying that he doesn't come any closer._

_"I think you'll want to play this game," he continues, looking at her like she's amusing to him. "If you win, you get to go home."_

_She swallowed, not letting her fear show on her face. "And if I lose?"_

_His smile broadens into a grin. "I like you. Hmm, let me think." He pretends to think about it, and then snaps his fingers together as though he'd come up with an idea. "If you lose, then I win."_

_She frowns, and she should really hold her tongue but she's already uttered the words before she could stop herself._

_"What does that mean?"_

_The grin doesn't leave his face but there's something dangerous that flashes in his eyes._

_"It means that if I win then I get to do with you as I please."_

When Sansa snaps awake, her shirt is sticking to her skin with sweat and her throat feels as though someone had set fire on her insides.

The tears come unbidden, but that's always the case when it's _him_ she dreams of.

Her nightmares aren't always about him, but the ones that are tend to follow her throughout the day.

Seeing him... remembering how he liked to play his little games with her, it always rattles her.

She wiped the tears from her eyes even as she continued to sob. After a year of this - of seeing her monsters haunt her the moment she closes her eyes, she should be used to it.

When it started, she really thought it would get less terrifying or just go away at some point. But it never feels like a dream, it's always like she's back there, living through it again.

And that, more than anything, makes her feel like this is all just part of some new sick game Ramsay's playing with her.

A soft knock on her door makes her look up, and she knows that it could only be Jon.

 _He's still new at this_ , she thinks. _He'll learn to ignore her_.

She's not sure why he's here, why he would agree to be her bodyguard, but it can't be anything good.

Her father has been worried lately, that much she could tell. But he doesn't tell her why, afraid that every little thing would make her break.

And maybe he's right to think that. Maybe they're all right to be so careful with her, she's barely holding herself together as it is.

It only makes her feel weaker, though, and at some point she had started waiting with them to see when she falls apart even more.

"You wouldn't tell me why you're here even if I asked, would you?" She asked Jon later, when they're both in the living room, sitting on the couch with hot chocolate in their hand.

There's some shitty movie playing on the television and she can't believe he actually seems to be enjoying it, but he turns his attention on her as soon as she speaks.

"Your father asked me to be your bodyguard," he says, simple.

She rolls her eyes. "Obviously I know that, I meant to say why."

"For precaution," he says after a beat. She could tell he's being careful with his words and that's enough to tell her that there is something going on that she doesn't know.

"Okay, but _why?_ " There's desperation in her voice, and it's obvious he hears it.

He makes a face and rubs his chin. It's obviously not a conversation he wants to have with her. "Look, San, I'm not sure what to tell you. if you really want to know, ask your dad."

She sighed. Well, it wasn't like she thought he'd give her answers.

She leaned back on the couch, taking a sip of her chocolate. She's not sure why she asked. Hell, she doesn't even know why she's there with him now --

 _Except_ , being with him means not being left alone to be haunted by her monsters awake. And Jon, he feels... safe.

He's still looking at her, the gentlest expression on his face, and it actually makes her heart throb, a memory flickering in her mind's eye.

A picture she used to keep hidden in her pillowcase when Ramsay had her.

"Stop that," she says immediately, turning away from him.

"What?" He asked, confusion lacing his voice.

"Making that face," she says idiotically.

"What face?"

She turns to look at him again and he looks genuinely confused. She waves a hand around his face, "that."

His brows curve into a frown, staring at her, but something on her face must've cracked because he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"You know you're not making any sense, right?"

She scowled. "You're not making any sense," she grumbled, and she catches a soft smile slip into his lips before she turns her attention to the television.

She's surprised to find that one slips into her lips as well, a small reluctant one that she hides in her cup as she takes another sip.

It's actually nice, feeling normal for a change. It almost feels like a possibility, like she could maybe get there one day.

It's a dangerous thought, one she shouldn't entertain at the risk of the inevitable disappointment.

It's better to be realistic about it; she's broken, and broken things stay broken. It's best she remembers that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no reason that she should think sleeping next to Jon is familiar, she hasn't done it before, but --
> 
> It feels familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day, boy do I have the time. Hahaha.
> 
> Trigger warnings have been updated, by the way.

**Jon**

  
When Jon slips into consciousness, the first thing he realizes is that he's not on a bed.

The confusion only lasts for a second, though, as he remembers last night, remembers Sansa falling asleep on the couch at some point while they watched some bizzare movie they'd found on one of the channels.

He was at a loss with what to do. He didn't want to just leave her there on her own and carrying her into her room was definitely not an option, so... he'd stayed.

Plus, he wanted to keep an eye out in case she gets a nightmare again; he was pretty sure it was going to come.

He's not sure about the frequency of it but the way she spoke about it made it sound like it happened often. He wanted to be vigilant.

But he still ended up falling asleep while waiting, anyway, and didn't get woken up by her screams, so that's... something.

A soft hum from a few feet away startles him away from his thoughts but he manages to stay still and pretend that he's asleep.

He knew that sound. Gods, _of course_ he does. He'd spent the better part of his youth being all too aware of the Stark matriarch, always seeking some form of acceptance from her.

He knows Catelyn Stark never warmed up to him; she always thought he was bad for her children. He wonders if she was against him coming here now to act as Sansa's bodyguard. It's definitely likely, maybe she even thought it was a stupid decision.

Which makes the current situation all the more awkward. He's pretty sure he can sense her judging him all the way from the other sofa.

Sansa shifts in her sleep, and he knows this because her head is resting right on his shoulder.

He was careful to keep his distance last night, leaving a huge amount of space between them on the couch. But at some point in their slumber they'd somehow moved closer to each other.

He almost winced in thought. This is not going to be good, she's definitely going to freak out when she wakes up and it's going to be all his fault.

He witnessed first-hand over dinner how she closed off on herself, shying away from even her family.

She'd flinched at an accidental touch from Rickon, and she looked so stricken by it that the whole atmosphere in the dining area changed instantly.

She shakes it off after a moment but anyone with eyes can see that it had startled her very much.

"Sorry," Rickon apologized softly, guilt written across his face.

Sansa turned to him, giving him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "No, it's alright. It was my fault. I'm sorry for frightening you."

There's guilt in her own voice, and it's just so unfair that any of them has to be sorry at all.

Witnessing it, seeing the Starks, a family Jon had always associated with his happiest memories, act so guarded and distant breaks his heart more than words could explain.

Sansa shifts again, and this time he knows she's awake. His mind becomes alert, waiting for a reaction from her.

 _Idiot_ , he curses himself. He should've just woken her up and told her to go to her room last night, that would've been less complicated. But she looked so peaceful and he didn't want to disrupt that. So, here they are.

Slowly, Jon sat up and stretched, pretending to be just waking up himself.

From the corner of his eye he could see Catelyn Stark. She's on her tablet, making a show of paying them no attention at all, but Jon could feel her awareness fully on them.

He re-focuses his attention on Sansa, watching her carefully.

Waiting.

She rubbed her eyes sleepily, seemingly unfazed to have woken up with him in such close proximity, and yawned before turning to finally acknowledge his presence.

"You snore," is all she says, a small crease on her brows as she said it.

A part of him feels like she's actively choosing to ignore the state they'd woken up in and Jon doesn't mind playing along if that's what she needs.

He lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding and a scowl slips in easily.

"I do not," he denied.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "How would you know?"

His scowl deepens, but he's really just confused. He's not sure this is what's supposed to happen.

With the way she'd flinched from a touch last night he expected her to be more... shaken about this.

Not that he wants her to be - of course he's glad that she seems okay, he's just -- lost.

"I don't snore," he repeats defensively, because it's all he can say, and she smirks.

"Sure you don't," she replied, even sounding amused about it.

She doesn't say anymore after that, though. She doesn't even acknowledge her mother, just gives her a quick glance before standing up to head upstairs.

He watches her leave, trying to make sense of it. He really doesn't know what to make of all this.

Everybody's been telling him to be careful with her; her file is clear on that, her family too. They all act like just one push and she'd break, but she seems stronger than that.

Maybe... maybe they were all wrong in their assessment of her. Or better yet, maybe she's starting to heal.

When she disappeared into the second floor, it's the first time Jon realizes that he's now alone with Catelyn Stark and - honestly? Some part of him is still sort of afraid of her, even if he's aware that he'd faced more dangerous people than Catelyn Stark.

He clears his throat, turning to her.

"Sorry," he says gruffly, sure that he's about to get a talk on propriery and how it's six years later and he still needs to work on his manners or whatever.

Instead, she turns to him with a smile. Directed at him. "Nothing to apologize for. Thank you for agreeing to this, Jon. It means a lot to Ned and I that you're watching out for Sansa."

He blinks back his surprise, and says, very awkwardly, "I - uh... Yeah. Of course. Um, no problem."

So she's... okay with him now? When did that happen?

"Breakfast is in the kitchen if you're hungry."

"Thank you," he says instantly, still feeling weird about all this. "I'll just... go wash up first."

 

 

**Sansa**

  
Sansa flopped down on her bed as soon as she got to her room, holding a hand to her chest in a bid to make her heartbeat go slow.

There's no reason that she should think sleeping next to Jon is familiar, she hasn't done it before, but --

It _feels_ familiar.

She shut her eyes, recalling how she'd woken up earlier with him on the far side of the couch. He looked peaceful; at ease, and it was so easy to just move a little bit and let herself be close to someone.

 _Jon is safe_ , she tells herself over and over again as her head fell on his shoulder, heart beating wildly out of her chest.

Somehow it works, like something inside her knows that it's the truth and agrees with it.

It was easy to fall back asleep after that, and she doesn't understand just what it means.

Except she does, at least a little.

He doesn't know it but he'd given her hope in the darkest time of her life.

She knows, though, she can't ever forget about it, and it feels like it should mean something that he's in her life again.

She chewed on her lip, remembering how she'd stumbled upon an article about him on a newspaper while she was still hidden at the _Dreadfort_.

One of Ramsay's goons had left a newspaper lying around the place. Usually, they would be careful about things like that so she won't get a hold of them, but there was some sort of emergency and they were all so busy that no one noticed her tucking it under her shirt.

She'd hidden herself in her room after that, going through the paper to look for - she's not sure what she was hoping to find, actually. Maybe some sign that someone's looking for her or just... something.

Something came in the form of Jon Snow's military headshot; he was in his uniform, his unruly curls tucked underneath a military cap.

She almost didn't recognize him. He looked older, but the melancholic expression on his face was still the same. She was just about to throw the newspaper away when she caught sight of it and it took her breath completely away.

There was a short article about him. _Northern Pride_ , it said on top, and it talks about his accomplishments at the academy and graduating on top of his class. It continues to talk about his recruitment into the Special Forces Unit way up North called the Night's Watch, and how he's the youngest recruit since the organization was formed.

She remembered hearing about the Night's Watch from Bran, about how he wanted to go and join them at the Wall one day when he's old enough.

She stores the memory in her mind, in case she could use it somehow, and looks at his photo again. She runs a hand through his face, the tears falling before she even realized.

Some days she couldn't even remember how any of her family looked, or how they sounded when they laughed. They were slowly fading away from her memories, getting buried underneath all the pain and suffering.

The sight of Jon, a little older but still the same as she remembered, it brought back all her memories from home. Memories of afternooons at the hot springs in Winterfell, her siblings' raucous laughter ringing in her ears. Or of campfires underneath the moonlight as their father regaled them with stories about Starks of the old.

She tore off his picture from the page and hid it inside her pillowcase to keep it safe; the only piece of home she has left.

So, no... it's not a surprise that she feels safe with him. He was a salvation she didn't think would come for her.

 _He can't protect you_ , she reminds herself still. _If Ramsay gets a hand on him, he'll die._

It's the truth; she'd seen many people fall in the hands of Ramsay Bolton. Often times he'd make her watch as he played his games with other people, delighting in how she'd freeze in place at the sight of all the blood. He made it a game of how far he could go to make her cry.

She sucked in a deep breath, her monsters coming into focus once more that she's alone.

 _And if not Ramsay_ , she continues to think darkly. _It could be Petyr who kills him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite things is Sansa fashioning Alayne Stone after Jon Snow, and that whole bit with her finding out about him becoming the Lord Commander, so I wanted to incorporate that into the story somehow. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed that. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He studies her; she has a coat on, wearing a simple shirt and a pair of pants underneath. He shouldn't be surprised about this either, on page six of her file are the reports of her guards about her sneaking out.
> 
> "Where are you headed?" He asked, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

**Sansa**

  
Sansa could hear her siblings outside, chatting and laughing. Aside from Robb, who moved to Barrowton a few years ago, all of them still lived in Winterfell.

Faintly, she could hear Arya making fun of Rickon, and the boys laughing about it.

Some part of her wishes she could just come down and join them; it should be so simple. She _wants_ to do it.

But everytime she considers it, she'd remember how they act around her and think that joining them would just ruin their merriment.

They always act like they're expecting her have a meltdown. Even Rickon looks at her like that.

Her parents aren't any better. She can see the worry written all over their faces whenever they look at her, and they watch her every move, almost to the point of following her around everywhere.

Of course, they don't actually do it, but that's only because they hire guards for that.

Hallis Mollen and Proxy Tym aren't too bad, really. They mostly keep their distance and keep out of her way. Sometimes it just gets too much, being followed around everywhere she goes.

She can't tell her parents to stop it, though, because of course not. They only want her to be safe... it's just that she doesn't feel it.

She wants to, but having armed men follow her around like a shadow only makes her feel like she's in constant danger.

Now Jon Snow is to be one of her guards too, and if that doesn't mean there's something dangerous going on then she doesn't know what else it's supposed to mean.

She knows now that the Night's Watch is some sort of elite force that takes on the most dangerous jobs that no one else can handle. She's not privy to the details of Jon's job, exactly, but she knows it's not babysitting some poor little rich girl who can't protect herself.

No one would tell her the truth, though, even if she asked. They don't think she can handle the truth but she hates not knowing what to expect.

Maybe Ramsay has been released. She knows it would be easy for him to tamper with the evidences against him, or to threaten a higher-up to do his bidding. Maybe he's after her for putting him there in the first place and decided to set his dogs on her.

 _Or maybe it's someone much worse_ , she thinks fearfully. But no, no one would know about Petyr Baelish. He knows better than to get caught and no one even knows about his connection to her disappearance.

She wouldn't dare tell anyone, not when he's still somewhere out there lurking in the shadows.

Though unlikely, she's hoping he'd forgotten about her. And if that's the case then she wouldn't be the one to bring his radar back on her by telling the truth.

"Sansa," Jon says from outside her door and a frown instantly slips on her face. He really should stop trying to help. "You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry," came her instant response.

Usually, that's enough to get people to leave her alone, but not Jon apparently.

"You can't not be hungry," he said, voice a little aghast. "You haven't eaten all day."

She rolled her eyes, though he wouldn't actually see it. He thinks he's the first person to do these things.

The first few months when she got back, everyone kept a watchful eye on her. Every second of everyday, her family surrounded her, taking their turns making sure she's fine.

Everytime she woke everyone out from her dreams her parents would burst through her room as though the think it would help.

She couldn't even let them close; people touching her only scared her. Reminds her of rough hands that only ever leaves bruised on her skin. So she's not sure what they thought they could do.

Other times, when she'd lock herself in her room, her siblings would take turns standing guard outside her door, talking to her.

They'd tell her random things; how their day was, sometimes they share old memories with her, other times they tell her some of what she'd missed while she was away.

At some point she'd just snapped and begged them to just stop trying and leave her alone.

It needed to be done no matter how terrible it made her feel. She couldn't deal with how it felt, seeing them look at her hopefully, always hopefully, waiting for the old her to come back.

Each day that she remains the same shell of the girl she used to be, their faces fall in disappointment, and it makes her guilty to see it.

And now Jon Snow is doing the same thing everyone else had already done, and he's yet another person she'll have to disappoint.

"I brought you food," he tries again, as though that would suddenly change her mind. He should know better.

"I'm not hungry, what can't you understand about that?" Her voice is louder and angrier, and she feels guilty about this too, but she just wants him to leave her alone.

She waits for a bit, waiting if he'd say anything else, but all she hears is his drifting footsteps as he made to leave.

Sansa blew out a big breath, not feeling any better now that he left her alone.

She knows he means well, they all do, but she's not worth the trouble.

 

  
**Jon**

  
It was either this or standing outside her door, waiting until she finally decided to open them. And obviously, he took the less creepy choice.

It's a little after midnight now and she hasn't come down yet; not since this morning after waking up on the couch.

He shouldn't have fallen asleep with her. It's probably his fault that she now decided to lock herself in her room, shutting everyone out.

This is the freakout he was expecting, just not in the way that he did. No screaming or whatever, just shutting herself out. He makes a mental note of this, just so he'd know to expect it next time.

He sighed, looking up at the stars. It's been a few minutes since he abandoned his waiting spot on the kitchen counter and has moved to the back patio for some air.

 _She's probably asleep anyway_ , he thought.

But as if on cue, the back door opened. It's gentle, almost inaudible, but Jon's trained to hear even the softest of sounds and he snaps into attention immediately.

He didn't expect it to be Sansa, which is stupid of him because he's been telling himself all day that she will eventually come down, to the point of waiting for her to do so.

He studies her; she has a coat on, wearing a simple shirt and a pair of pants underneath. He shouldn't be surprised about this either, on page six of her file are the reports of her guards about her sneaking out.

"Where are you headed?" He asked, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

She startles, almost shaking, and he winced at his own stupidity. He should've made his presence known in some other way. But there wasn't actually a lot of options, she would've been startled either way.

"What are you doing here?" She snaps at him.

"I couldn't sleep," he says, and he's not even lying either. Technically, he was there waiting for her to come down, but that was just a result of his inability to calm down enough to fall into slumber.

Two days into this and he's already losing sleep worrying about her.

He looked around, notes that there's a few guards walking around. "How did you think you were going to sneak past them?"

She scoffs, "That's easy. I'm sure you've heard, I've done it before."

"I actually am curious how," he admits. He'd wondered, upon reading her file, how she managed.

He remembers the guards crawling around the Stark mansion even before she went missing, so he wanted to know how she got past that.

"I'm not telling you my tricks," she said.

He grins. He wasn't expecting her to. "Of course not."

He thought about it, looking around the area. He'd been given a general list of exit points and number of men guarding it when he'd accepted the job and considers all this now.

There's no way she could jump over a fence with the electric wiring live at all times, and all the exits are guarded by no less than three guards each, so there's really no -

He turned to her again, surprised. It's been years since he even thought about the place to the point of forgetting about it, but that's the only exit none of the guards would know. "The crypts?"

It's her turn to be surprised, giving him a strange look. "You know about that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. Know it? Him and Robb discovered it, they used to go through there all the time when they snuck out as teenagers. Naturally, Arya found out about it, and so has Sansa, it seems.

"How'd you find it?" He asked, curious.

Ned Stark told them about the Crypts, the final resting place of old Stark Kings that ruled the North in the old days. It was fascinating and him and Robb wanted to check it out, see the statues of the people from his dad's stories.

They'd stumbled upon the other exit completely by accident. On the deepest part of the crypts where the statue of Bran the Builder lied, there was an empty tunnel leading to, seemingly, nowhere.

Idiotic as they were, and always up for some adventure, they decided to find out where it led.

 _Out_. It lead them outside the estate, somewhere deep in the Wolfswood forest.

"Alright," he said, thoughtful. "Lead the way."

"What?"

He shrugged. "I haven't gone there in years, it's better if you lead."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Aren't you supposed to be my bodyguard?"

He cocked his head to the side. "What do you think I should be doing?"

"I don't know," she said sarcastically. "Tell me not to go?"

"Well if you don't go anywhere, what am I supposed to guard you from?"

She gave him an incredulous look. That's obviously not an answer she expects. "That doesn't even make sense."

Apparently, he never does to her. He grinned but doesn't reply.

He looked around to check if any of the guards are watching them and finds that they're completely alone.

 _Perfect_.

"The way I see it, we can leave now and get back before sunrise. Or debate about it and get caught."

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you want me to trust you," she says slowly, feeling the walls she'd built around herself shaking at his mere words. "You have to be honest with me. You can't shield me from the truth - I need to know."

**Sansa**

  
"You know, Robb and I used to go through here all the time," Jon said as they walked past one statue to the next. "How did you find it?"

"I was looking for somewhere to be alone," she tells him.

She doesn't elaborate, though, catching herself before she starts telling him what it was, exactly, that led her there all those months ago.

It was after one of her worst nightmares; she's been shaking and sobbing and everytime she closed her eyes she'd see a pair of pale blue eyes with malice in them.

She only just got back to Wintefell then, and she always woke up confused during those few months, not knowing where she was. That night she ran outside the house, snuck past the guards, and then ran some more.

Without realizing it she'd gone through the Godswood, and there she found the entrance to the Crypts.

She remembers it from the old stories her father used to tell them, and that was enough for her.

She'd gone in, and while she knew it should've scared her going in a dark tunnel with no clue what to find in there, it kept her attention on something other than the monsters that haunted her in her sleep.

"So what do you do when you come here on your own?" Jon asked. His voice is conversational but she knows better than to think he's not just trying to figure her out.

 _Good luck with that_ , she thinks to herself. Sansa could barely understand herself as it is.

"You're going to get in trouble for this," she said instead, ignoring his question. "You know that, don't you?"

She still hasn't figured out what his deal is, no matter how much she thought about it. She doesn't know why he even came with her - or what possessed her to bring him along in the first place.

Not that she had a choice, really. He caught her sneaking out, and if he wasn't going to stop her then she might as well go on with it.

"Get in trouble for what, exactly?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I'm doing exactly what they're paying me to do."

Her face falls a little at that, though he doesn't see it from where he's walking a few steps behind her. For all she feels like she knows him, it's all just an illusion. No matter what he means to her, she shouldn't forget that he's only here because it's his job to be here. Nothing more.

"They're paying you to let me sneak out?" She retorted because that's all she can think to ask.

"No," he said, a strange tone to his voice. "To _protect_ you."

"From what?" She swallows, making up her mind, and stopped walking.

Sansa's not sure what it is about him that doesn't make her want to squirm and hide like everybody else does to her, but whatever it is, that's what gave her the strength to turn to him now.

He stumbles just a little in surprise, not expecting her to stop.

"Jon," she said, voice quiet. "You need to tell me if he's after me."

There's a pleading tone to her voice. It's not that she thinks he actually will tell her, more that she wants him to see that she needs to know.

"Not knowing if he'll just suddenly appear out of nowhere and murder me is the scary part," she adds, not breaking eye contact. "That's all I can think about. At least if I knew, I'd know to expect it."

His eyes hardens at her words, an unreadable expression on his face.

"He's never ever getting near you again," he said with a low voice, a promise in his words. "I won't ever let that happen, you have to trust that."

"If you want me to trust you," she says slowly, feeling the walls she'd built around herself shaking at his mere words. "You have to be honest with me. You can't shield me from the truth - I need to know."

Jon sighed, looking conflicted. His eyes are almost begging her not to ask this of him, and she knows that he's probably not allowed to tell her anything - but she already knows, anyway.

He's here to protect her from Ramsay, that's easy enough to figure out. She just needs him to admit it.

"What do you want to know?"

Her eyes widen just a bit, surprised that he'd relent to her so quickly. She didn't think it would be this easy.

"Is it Ramsay?"

"Yes," he says, albeit reluctantly.

She already knew. Deep down, she already knew. But hearing confirmation of it still makes her body go slack with the sudden fear of Ramsay and what can do to her once he gets to her.

Instantly, Jon's hands are on her for support, holding her up by the arm as she tries to summon some courage.

"Is he after me?" Her voice cracks and all she could do was look at him, waiting for his answer.

"No," he said instantly, shutting his eyes before amending his statement. "We don't know yet. He's off our radar."

"So he disappeared," she fills in, mind already filling in the blanks. "He's not in police custody anymore, he's - he's out there - "

"Sansa, look at me," he urged, tugging gently on her arm.

It's only then that she realized that he's touching her, and she's expecting herself to flinch away in fear or run away from him, but the feeling doesn't come.

Instead, her eyes finds his, just as he'd asked. "You're safe with me. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"You can't say things like that," she warned, though her voice comes out as small.

It sounds so good, hearing those words, and he shouldn't say things she might one day believe.

All she wants is to be safe; to _feel_ safe. And when he realizes just what sort of mess he'd gotten himself into and takes his words back, then where does that leave her?

"Because I can't protect you?" He asked her, repeating her words from before.

"Because you don't have control over it," she tells him loudly. "If he wants me dead, I'm dead. Ramsay always gets what he wants."

The expression on his face changes to something else, but she doesn't know what it means. "Then he'll just have to go through me first."

He says it like it's simple, like they're not talking about him risking his life here, and she knows it's his job but surely there's not enough money in the world for him to give his life away for her.

"Why did you even agree to this?" Is what she'd like to understand. There's no way this is what he wants to do with his life.

"Your dad asked for my help," he admits. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to be here -I do. I _want_ to keep you safe."

"Why?"

"Because you shouldn't have to worry about men like Ramsay Bolton going after you," he says, easy. "Because I can stop them if they tried."

She shakes her head. "I'm not kidding around, Jon. If Ramsay's after me, I'm as good as dead."

 _Unless someone gets to me first_ , she adds privately. Petyr wouldn't want her dead, he would just want her to play along with his own little sadistic game.

"Stop saying that," he says, as though it physically pains him to hear it.

He blew out a big breath before taking a sure step towards her. They were already standing too close to each other, but that last step had removed the remaining distance between them.

He slides his hands up to her cheeks, guiding her to look at him. He's too close to her now and she should be scared but his eyes are soft and warm on her and the fear just doesn't come.

She sucks in a deep breath, waiting for what he does next.

"Listen to me," he urged, voice low. He's close enough that his breath fans across her face, and she still doesn't step away.

 _Jon is safe, Jon is safe, Jon is safe,_ her brain tells her repeatedly and she finds comfort in his touch, even finds herself leaning into it.

"If Ramsay Bolton tries to hurt you again, I'll make him regret it."

She shut her eyes, the words almost making her heart stop. She didn't expect them to comfort her but it does. And that's the dangerous part of it all.

She's learned the hard way that when it comes down to it, no one can protect her. _No one did_. So she shouldn't fall for his words so easily.

"And if anyone else is stupid enough to try," Jon continued on, his tone begging her to believe it. "I'll make them regret it too."

"You can't promise that," she whispered shakily, opening her eyes again to see the most earnest expression on his face.

It's a face she knows; a face that kept her hope alive when the people around her did their best to break it. She already trusts him, with no logic to it.

"I know you don't believe I can protect you," he said, his voice softer and eyes pleading for her to believe him. "But you should at least let me try."

"Okay," came her unbidden reply. She leans forward, letting her forehead fall against his in resignation.

The truth is that she wants him to try. She's held onto her fears for so long, carrying the burden alone, and if Jon wants to help carry them, then maybe she should let him.

"I shouldn't," she tells him quietly, shutting her eyes. "But okay."

She lets herself stay with him like that for a moment, trying to hold onto the feeling of being close to someone for the first time in years. For not being afraid of it.

"Come on," she said after a while, breaking the moment and shaking off the serious atmosphere they've built around them. "We should go, we're almost to the exit."

She steps away and turns to start walking again. She walks a little faster than before, almost rushing to get to the end of the tunnel.

She needs air and some room to think; she can't think properly with him so close, and the quicker they get out of there the quicker she gets it.

 

 

  
**Jon**

  
Jon could be such an idiot sometimes. There was a line he was specifically told not to cross and he'd ignored it completely, choosing to follow his stupidity instead.

First, he'd told Sansa the one thing Ned Stark was clear on not telling her. And then he fucking held her when everybody around him said she doesn't like that.

He's a fucking dumbass and all he can do now is watch her, waiting for some sort of freak out.

He knows it won't come, not right now. This morning he thought she was okay too, and then she wasn't, locking herself in her room and avoiding everyone.

"Aren't you hungry at all?" He asked all of a sudden, remembering she'd skipped all her meals.

She's sitting on a rock, fanning herself. They'd just reached the exit point of the tunnel and are now in the Wolfswood Forest, the moon providing them with the only light.

He's not sure where they're going from there but he's hoping she'd at least find sustainance first.

As if thinking along the same line, she retrieves something from her coat, showing him the chocolate bar in her hands. "Are you? I took this from the kitchen. Yours if you want it."

"No, I'm fine." He frowns. "Is that all you're going to eat?"

She brings out a muffin wrapped in tissue from her other coat pocket and he laughed suddenly, surprised.

"You're something else, aren't you?" He shook his head in amusement. "Eat your muffin."

He looked around then, trying to remember where they are. He's pretty sure if they walked straight South, it would lead to the Wolfsood Park, and then they could head into town from there, like he and Robb used to, but that doesn't seem like where Sansa would go.

If she sneaks out wanting to be alone then she wouldn't be going to places where people could find her.

"So where do we go from here?" He asked, looking back at her.

She's eating her muffin now and he wants to pump his fist at the sight of it. He'd been worried all day with her not eating and he's glad that she finally is.

She's looking at him thoughtfully, as if trying to decide on something. She seems to make up her mind after a moment, and says, "I was looking for a hideout."

He blinks, the understanding coming after a moment. For when Ramsay comes for her, he realized.

A part of him wants to tell her that she doesn't have to do that, to tell her again that he will protect her, but he stops himself.

If this makes her feel safe then he won't ruin that for her. If this is what she needs then he'll help her.

He puts a hand to his hips, studying their surrounding. "You found anything?"

She nodded, looking a little uncomfortable to share this with him. "I found one a few miles to the North."

He nods, thoughtful. North from here would be... "The mountains, right? You found a cave?"

She looks surprised that he figured it out, then her expression turns frightened. He knows what she's thinking, if Jon could see through her plans easily then how long would it take for Ramsay to figure it out too?

"I'm trained for this kind of thing, Sansa," he tells her, trying to make her feel better about it. "A cave is a good hideout. If we stock it up with food and water, you could survive there for days." Then he adds, "if you show me, we can cover it up and make sure it's unnoticable."

"We can?" She asked dubiously.

He nodded. "I'm pretty good at this, you don't have to worry." He paused. "So if you have your cave, what else are you trying to find?"

She bit her lip. "Plan B. Somewhere else to go if I can't reach the cave."

He nods again, thinking. "Yeah, that's good thinking. Do you know how to climb?" He asked. "If we find a tree tall enough and one with enough leaves to cover you, it'd probably be good. It's a little trickier to hide in the daylight but we could come up with some form of camouflage."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You don't think this is stupid?"

He shook his head. "No, it's smart. It's good to be prepared."

She's giving him that expression that tells him she's confused with how he's responding to this, and he thinks he might be seeing a lot of that expression.

"We could come up with code words too, for when something goes wrong and we want to alert each other."

He turns to her, waits for her to agree to his suggestion, but all she does is stare at him, confused.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Why would I be?" He asked in slight confusion. "My job is to protect you, and if something does go wrong and you need to escape then at least I'd know you have a fighting chance."

"Alright," she says slowly, as if internalizing it all. Then she stood up, brushing the dirt off her clothes before nodding to the direction behind him. "My cave is that way."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why can't I come with? It's my cave," she tells him with a glare.
> 
> "Echo," he corrects sternly, reminding her of the stupid code name. "We call it Echo."
> 
> She rolled her eyes. "Fine, it's my Echo cave," she says the last word more to annoy him than anything, and tries not to smile at how offended he looked. "I should get to see it too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lighter than the past few chapters but not by much. Hope you guys enjoy the jonsa bickering bit, though. :D

**Sansa**

 

"Are you getting more sleep in, sweetheart?" Her mother asked from a few seats across her, looking at her curiously.

She takes her time chewing her food, trying to come up with an answer. She would pretend that she thought her mother was asking her other siblings, except she's the only one who has trouble sleeping to merit getting asked the question.

Sometimes she forgets that her parents is still watching her very closely, just not as openly as they used to. Of course Catelyn Stark would notice the difference in her routine.

Sansa was always first to come down for breakfast; she's always the first one awake with her nightmares ruining her sleep. But lately, she hasn't been doing that. She'd been sleeping through the early hours of the morning, until her nightmares inevitably wakes her up sometime before lunch.

When she thinks how it looks from her mother's point-of-view, it might seem like she's making progress. But the truth is that there's just been a shift in her pattern.

For the past couple of weeks since that first time she and Jon snuck out, they've been going back to her cave almost every night to fix it up when everybody else has fallen asleep.

She wasn't expecting him to take her seriously when she told him about her plan. In fact, a small part of her was expecting him to tell her that the whole thing was idiotic - but he genuinely seems just as invested in it as she is.

"No, I haven't," she finally answered, taking a sip of her tea to seem more casual. "I've just been sleeping later than usual."

It feels too close to the truth that it makes her feel a little nervous. If her parents knew that she'd been sneaking out for the past few weeks, and with Jon, they'll both be in huge trouble.

To her left, she could feel him shifting uncomfortably. He's probably expecting her to slip up, but she's good at this. She knows how to deflect questions and keep her face clear of any emotion.

She feels guilty lying about the whole thing; she would want to be honest with her parents, tell them what she's been doing, but if they ever found out they're going to put a stop to it immediately.

They just wouldn't understand.

"Oh?" Her mother asked, worry evident in her tone. "Are you having trouble sleeping again?"

She shook her head, putting her mug down the table. "None more than usual." She looked up, gave her mother the littlest of smiles she could muster. "I'm fine, mom. Honest."

Her mother nods, though she doesn't look convinced. Next to her at the head of the table, Ned Stark clears his throat.

"Jon, you're heading out this afternoon?" He asked, changing the topic.

Jon swallowed down the food in his mouth as he nods. "Yes sir, but I won't be gone for more than an hour."

She knows that technically, Jon isn't supposed to have a day off, but he'd told her repeatedly on the nights that followed whenever she reminds him that he's doing this bodyguard thing wrong, that he isn't officially on duty yet.

"That reminds me, Sansa," her mother tries again. "I was thinking you, me and Arya could go shopping when Jon gets back? So you would have new wardrobe for your new school?"

"Wait, why am I included?" Arya piped up, confused. Sansa doesn't look but she's pretty sure her mother gives her little sister a warning look because the next thing Arya says is, "I mean, yeah. Shopping sounds fun."

A low chuckle from Jon makes her look up at him since he's usually quiet during meal times.

Following his gaze she sees Arya staring at her mother with the most baffled expression on her face. It is a funny sight and she couldn't help the smile forming on her face at the sight of it.

Then she remembers that she was asked a question quickly enough and turns to find her mother looking at her with her own small smile, and Sansa has to look away.

She's been getting a lot of those sort of looks lately, and she doesn't understand just why that is.

"My clothes are fine," she finally says, still not looking at her mother. "I don't think I need any more."

Shopping would be something the old Sansa would like; it used to be her favorite thing ever.

 _Idiot_ , she tells herself. _Silly. Clueless, little girl._

"Oh. Alright then," her mom says. "Arya and I will just buy something for you."

She hears Arya curse quietly, but her voice is low enough that Sansa doubts her mother would hear. It makes her smile again though, seeing the look on Arya's face as she stabbed her food with a fork.

It seems her sister hasn't changed; still repulsed with the idea of wasting her time in a mall when she could be doing something else more productive. At least, that's what she used to tell Sansa.

The rest of their lunch is spent with idle conversations between her parents and siblings, and occasionally with Jon, but she stays out of it.

It always feels jarring, hearing them talk about normal things. She never has anything to contribute; she doesn't have anything normal to talk about anymore.

Jon leaves an hour after lunch, but she doesn't make it easy. His official excuse is that he has errands to run before they leave for Riverrun, but she knows he's really going to her hideout to do one final check to make sure everything is in place.

They've been going there during dark so they're not entirely sure that it looks discreet enough in the daylight. Today would be the only chance he has to check it before they leave tomorrow.

"Why can't I come with? It's _my_ cave," she tells him with a glare as he tied his hair up in a bun.

They're in his room; she came in just when he was preparing to leave and decided to try and make him let her come along.

"Echo," he corrects sternly, reminding her of the stupid code name. "We call it Echo."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, it's my Echo _cave_ ," she says the last word more to annoy him than anything, and tries not to smile at how offended he looked. "I should get to see it too."

He scowls. "Echo Den."

"Ugh," she said, letting her head fall down his pillow. "It's a stupid name."

"It's discreet," he argues back, defending the stupid code name he came up with. "If we call it a cave, everyone would know about it - " He sighed. "I don't even know why we're arguing about this now, I have to go."

"Well it's my hideout," she said again. "I should get to name it."

"You're infuriating," he states, but it only makes her smile. He looks like an annoyed puppy than anything else. "Fine, you name it."

"And I'll come with you," she said, just to try if he'd relent.

"No," he said, final. "You can come up with a name you like while I'm gone. You should consider the mall thing too, I think your mom would like that."

"Jon," she huffed, looking at him pleadingly and ignoring his statement. "Please take me with you."

His face softens at that before sighing. "Sansa, if you come with me, you know I'll have to bring your other guards too. Do you want that?"

She wrinkled her nose; It was hard enough to let Jon in on it, but it only seemed fair - he did tell her the truth like she'd asked.

That doesn't mean she didn't think he'd rat her out to her parents, though. That's what any of her other guards would do. But the next day came and he hadn't said anything. He'd just come up to her two days later with some legit tactic to sneak out from the house, because he's a professional.

She decided then it's safe to trust him, but she's not willing to share it with anyone else, especially not her other bodyguards.

Technically, Jon's one of them too, but he's helping her. If anyone finds out, he'll be in more trouble than she is.

"No," she huffed out her response, irritated. "Alright, fine. You go."

He let out a breath, looking relieved that she finally dropped the issue.

When he leaves, she comes up with her own plan to sneak out. At the moment, none of her siblings are around, all of them probably locked in their own rooms. It's a saturday so they'd definitely come down and enjoy their weekend eventually, and Sansa has to be gone before then.

She watches the guards in the backyard from her window and waits for them to get distracted with their conversation before heading out.

Jon should've really thought carefully about teaching her to sneak out like a pro because she gets to the crypts undetected and it's his fault.

When he gets to their spot, he hears her approach from a distance, and he turns to her, his expression guarded, before it clears when he sees it's her.

"Sansa," is all he says, but she could hear the exasperation in his voice.

"What?" She asked. "I never said anything about not sneaking out. They won't even realize I'm gone. They think I'm locked up in my room."

"Your parents would freak if they found out you were gone," he tells her, disappointment lacing his voice even as he tried to hide it. "They're worried enough as it is."

Guilt flashes across her face, his words getting to her. She didn't think about that, she just wanted to have some freedom to do what she wants. That's all.

"Fine, I'm sorry," she said. "If you stop looking me like that, I'll - " she tries to think of something, anything so she won't have to see the disappointment on his face anymore, and remembers what he said earlier. "I'll go to the mall with my mom, as an apology."

He looks at her, a little confused. "Yeah?"

She doesn't even know why he cares about it. It's not like he likes going to the mall, either. But he's right, her mom would like it. She could do it. It doesn't have to be a big deal.

"Yeah," she agreed. "After we check out the _Echo den_."

His lips quirk up, and she smiles back. He can't even stay annoyed with her. 

He nods at the direction of the mountain. "Unnoticable," he says. "See?"

He's right; even though they know where the cave is supposed to be, it's hard to point out. It's immensely better hidden than it was when she first found it.

She turns to Jon as her smile widens into a grin, thinking that for the first time since she'd come up with this plan of hers, it might actually work.

 

 

**Jon**

 

Jon walks a few meters behind the Stark women, making sure to keep his distance. He's supposed to be close to Sansa at all times, with a two meter distance at most to make sure he can protect her if the need arose, but he wanted to give them some privacy for now.

Besides, there's like twenty other guards shadowing them from a distance, making sure the area is safe. The least Jon could do was give them some time to bond.

He'd seen the hopeful glint in Catelyn Stark's eyes earlier when she'd asked Sansa if she wanted to go shopping. It might not seem like a big deal but Jon can understand what she's going through.

Her daughter would be leaving for school tomorrow, and after all that happened to Sansa since the last time she left Winterfell, it must not be easy to let her do it again.

He's honestly glad Sansa agreed to this, though he wishes she wasn't so uncomfortable about the whole thing. Even from a distance he could see how hard she's trying to cover up her fears. There's just too much people around.

He makes a face; he should've thought about this beforehand. He shouldn't even have suggested it.

He took a deep breath and walked closer to her before he could stop himself. He can at least try to alleviate some of the pressure.

"So I was thinking of buying a suit while we're here," he tells her conversationally, slipping into place next to her. "Your dad wasn't strict about my uniform but I feel a little left out."

He glanced around them, easily spotting all the Stark guards dressed in identical clothes.

"What do you think?" He asked, turning back to her.

She squints, like she's really thinking about it, then says. "Definitely not, you'd look like a weirdo."

"Men in suit look like weirdos?" He asked with a grin.

She mirrors his grin and nodded. "Especially when they're following me around."

He laughed. "Noted."

He notices Mrs. Stark watching them from the corner of her eyes and he pretends not to notice. He was just trying to make Sansa feel better, and it's working so he doesn't think he'd done anything wrong.

He does stay quiet after that, though, letting Mrs Stark take over once they'd gone into a store. He knows nothing about clothes.

He stands with Arya by the door, the two of them unsure what else to do.

"How do you do that?" Arya asked after a while.

Sansa's in a dressing room at the moment with a few clothes with her for her to fit.

"Do what?" He asked, taking his eyes off the door to the dressing room to look at Arya.

At eighteen, Arya's still the fiery little kid he remembers, and he couldn't help the fondness to show in his face. He always thought of her as his little sister, despite being unrelated.

"She's smiling a lot," Arya said, thoughtful. "I don't think I've seen her smile since before she went missing."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I just - " Arya looks at him. "You do know she only smiles around you, right?"

"That's not true," he says, waving it off immediately. "She was smiling about you earlier."

"Really? When? I hadn't noticed."

"That's because she tries to hide it," he explained. "See? It's got nothing to do me."

"Still," Arya continues, relentless. "She's different with you."

He doesn't say anything to that. Mostly because he doesn't know what to say. He's not doing anything special, he's just trying to be Sansa's friend.

The rest of the day continues the same way, Jon and Arya standing awkwardly by the door, making conversation, while Sansa and Mrs. Stark hunted for some clothes.

He thinks the day went well, overall. It didn't take long for Sansa to ease into it and by the time they finished, she was more relaxed.

She even engages in a few conversations with Arya and her mom. Nothing serious, almost forgettable topics, but he knows it means a lot to her family already.

After dinner at the house, they head to bed early. They've finished their work on the hideout anyway so they don't have to go there anymore. Besides, they leave early in the morning so it's best they get some rest.

Still, that night he stays up waiting for when Sansa inevitably screams her lungs out from a nightmare. It's started to become a habit, he could just never sleep, worrying about it.

He never thought he'd be so familiar with someone's screams, but hers keeps ringing in his ears for hours on end whenever he hears it.

He uses his time awake researching about Ramsay Bolton from the Night's Watch database.

The Night's Watch mostly keep out of matters that involve people like Bolton, focusing more on bigger issues that concern national security and whatnot, but they do have a file on everyone who might be a security risk.

He reads through everything they have on him, trying to see if he could find a clue on his location. The guy couldn't have just disappeared into thin air.

He's out there somewhere, and when Jon finds him, he's going to regret ever laying his hands on Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter: Fluff and Sansa learns more about Jon, so watch out for that.
> 
> Thank you guys for all the support and feedback. It is hugely appreciated. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's been a long day and I'm so tired and for some reason I sleep better with you," she mumbled, face purposely hidden on a pillow "Please don't kick me out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy. :D

**Jon**

  
Jon waits until they're alone before pointing to Sansa how tired she looked.

He didn't want to comment on it while she was already going through a very awkward goodbye with her family, all of them just standing there saying nothing until Ned Stark finally cleared his throat and told his daughter that she can call them anytime she wants.

Then the rest of her family followed, giving her their own parting words before finally letting her go. No hugs though, or any other form of touching.

Once they're in the car, he doesn't hesitate to tell her what he knows. "You didn't sleep," he accused.

She rolled her eyes, which is a pitiful gesture when she looks that exhausted. "What gave it away? The bags under my eyes or the fact that I didn't wake you up with my screaming?"

"Both," he answered easily before frowning. "You should try and get some rest. We have a few hours before getting to Riverrun."

"I'm fine," she mumbled, thought not convincingly.

He can tell that she's nervous but not sure as to why. There's a lot of possible answers to that. The new place, the new school, the idea of interacting with new people... He doesn't want to ask her what it is, though, when she's already anxious.

He just nods, even if he doesn't believe her, and gives her some space. It's only been fourteen days since he started working as her bodyguard but he's gotten pretty familiar with how she gets by now.

She's not as fragile as everyone first led him to believe but that doesn't mean she doesn't have her moments.

When she closes herself off, he knows not to push. She just needs time to think over whatever's going through her mind, and when she's done, he lets her make the first move to come to him or not.

After a while during the ride, she starts nodding off, and he keeps thinking it must not be that comfortable, with the bumps in the road waking her up every few minutes.

"Hey," he said once she gets woken up by Hallis pulling the breaks harder than strictly necessary. "Come here."

He raises his hands as an offer and she doesn't even hesitate. She just slides closer to him and tucks herself into him.

He has noticed the ease she has with him before. Jon's not _that_ clueless, he does know that he's the only one she ever lets close. Nothing else has changed, she would still flinch away when someone gets too close to her or touch her, but for some reason he's the exception to that. For some unexplainable reason she's okay with him getting close.

She shifts a little, trying to get into a comfortable position. He stays absolutely still, just so he won't accidentally do something to freak her out; giving her all the control over the situation.

She keeps shifting for a while, unable to find the position she's comfortable in. Then, to his absolute surprise, she sighed as though she'd given up and turned sideways to him, letting her long legs rest on his lap.

He blinked at her in confusion, but she purposely ignores him as she slipped her arms around his torso and rested her head on his shoulder.

He doesn't think it's, in any way, more comfortable than her past position but she does finally fall asleep, so he figures it's alright.

Jon likes to think of himself as a very logical man; he wouldn't last in his job for this long if he didn't use his brain, but --

None of what he's been doing so far has been logical. Everything about this new _assignment_ \- this thing with Sansa - has had him running on his emotions.

And fuck if he _didn't_ know why his hearbeat suddenly picked up at her actions. He may not know a lot of things, but he definitely understood what it means that he could almost feel his heart on his throat.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks with no small amount of trepidation. _Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

He's not in love with her, he doesn't think. But he's -- he feels _something_. A pull, a tug - whatever it is, it's dangerous.

He spends the rest of the ride trying to purposely not think about this new development in his life, and it's difficult with her so close, but he manages. Barely.

He distracts himself by looking out the window and counting the number of cars he sees in different colors. It's a game his mother used to play with him as a kid and it gives him something else to think about.

He doesn't wake Sansa until Proxy Tym lets him know that they're only a few minutes away from the house they'd be staying in.

Tym gave him a pointed look before turning away again, one that almost makes him squirm. Jon is half the guy's age, and he grew up knowing almost all the guards in the Stark's payroll, so they would know - Tym and Hallis both - that this isn't... normal.

He and Sansa weren't close as children, and the last person they'd expect Sansa to let close to her isn't Jon. He might not have even made the list. Yet, here they are.

Jon ignores this for now and focuses his attention on her.

"Hey," he said, tapping her gently on the shoulder. "Wake up, we're almost to the house."

Slowly, he feels her wake up, but she only burrows further into his neck, trying to chase after her sleep he'd disturbed. He lets her because he knows she's tired and he doesn't try to wake her up again until they're parked right out the house.

She huffs when she realizes that the car had pulled to a stop and gives herself a second before finally pulling away from him.

He tries not to feel disappointed at the loss of contact and reminds himself to _get himself together, for fuck's sake_ , and headed outside the car before her to check the area.

Right at the front of the house there's two people standing by the door, a man and a woman, waiting for them. Ned Stark had told him about the addition to Sansa's security detail, and he's read their file at the estate.

He nods for Hallis and Tym to head in first and check the house before he lets Sansa follow. Once they've settled inside, with Tym guarding outside for now, he finally acknowledges the two new bodyguards.

The two of them has been personally screened by Sansa's parents and Jory Cassel, and Jon would have to agree that they're good choices based on their files.

He shakes hands with Brienne Tarth first and introduces himself. She was in the army for seven years and had met Catelyn Stark sometime during that, forming some sort of friendship with the Stark Matriarch. She left the Army after her last tour and was quickly hired into an agency as a bodyguard for a lot of different high-profile people.

She has a clean file, no stints during her service and with flying recommendations from her other employers.

Next he greets Podrick Payne, and his record is a little trickier. He's nephew to one of the most controversial criminals in Westeros, Ilyn Payne, and Jon wouldn't have initially thought that someone like that would be accepted into Sansa's detail as a precaution by merit of being related to an ex-con, but his file is squeaky clean too.

Brienne is his SO, and the woman doesn't seem like the kind to tolerate bad behavior to Jon. She even went as far as putting her neck out for him, taking complete responsibility over any of his possible failures.

He introduces them to Sansa afterwards, to get it out of the way, and let them replace Tym outside.

The house is three storey, personally chosen by Catelyn Stark, each floor with two bedrooms. Kitchen is on the first, lounge on the second and the third is empty aside from the bedroom.

There's two ways of getting around the house; the stairs and the elevator at the end of the hall.

Tym and Hallis are on the first since they're primarilly going to be night guards, Brienne and Podrick on the second and Jon and Sansa on the third.

It seems like a stupid idea to have Sansa stay at the top of the floor. It would effectively trap her there if anyone comes for them, but she'd have a better chance escaping than if she's staying on any of the other floors.

He checks her room before he let her settle in while he spoke with the other agents. Aside from Podrick, all the guards have more experience than Jon in this kind of work, but Ned still put him in charge and he's not going to mess this up.

They go over a few quick details and some of the arrangements before he lets them off. Brienne and Podrick continues their watch, with her stationed 20 meters from the house and Podrick standing just outside.

He goes to check on Sansa again before he heads into his own room; she's unpacking, with the most unreadable expression on her face. She really is great at keeping her emotions hidden when she wants to, but that's usually when he knows something's up.

"Need help unpacking?" He offered. She's got her door open so he assumes it's alright to approach.

"No, I'm fine," she assures softly, giving him a quick smile before going back to her task.

"I'm right next door if you need anything," he tells her, as he usually does.

"Yeah," she says. "Thanks, Jon. I'll be fine."

He tries not to read too much into how she's being; she has those moments, and he usually just lets it play out.

He's come to realize that she usually just needs time to process things before she lets herself be comfortable in a situation. And this is a huge shift in her daily routine so he leaves her alone for now.

He doesn't immediately unpack when he gets to his room, instead going over the blueprints that's on his desk.

Sansa doesn't start school until a week later, but it's his job to familiarize himself with all the details of the University she's attending for possible emergency exits if they ever have to use them.

Her campus is small, which is good, it would be easy to go around in case of emergency. He puts down a note to have Brienne check the area tomorrow, since it'll be her and Podrick who'll be part of Sansa's regular detail.

For dinner, they just order take out, and they share the meal with Hal and Tym on the first floor before the guys head out to relieve the two new guards.

It's been an exhausting day of travel and settling into the house so he tries not to worry too much when Sansa shuts herself in her room after dinner.

But she was quiet while they ate still and he's again cursing himself in thought. He's starting to think that this silent treatment is because of what happened at the car earlier, with him letting her sleep on him.

Jon goes over the blueprints again, just to keep his mind off his worries. He's really got to stop pushing her boundaries and testing her limits. He's supposed to protect her, and how will he do that properly if he's the one who keeps scaring her.

It's when he'd just started to settle into bed, his thoughts still on Sansa, when his door creaks open.

He keeps it unlocked, because he always wakes up in the middle of the night to stand by her door, anyway, and for all he always tells Sansa that he's just right next door if she ever needs anything, he wasn't expecting her to acknowledge the offer anytime soon.

He watched her as she came in, a determined expression on her face. She doesn't say anything though, she just tentatively closed his door behind her and walked towards the bed.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, unsure why, exactly, that he's nervous.

She flops down on the other side of him, landing on her stomach and he's just staring at her in confusion as he waits for some sort of explanation.

"It's been a long day and I'm so tired and for some reason I sleep better with you," she mumbled, face purposely hidden on a pillow "Please don't kick me out."

 _Wouldn't even dream of it_ , he thinks.

"Of course not," he says immediately, though he doesn't really know what he's saying. "You can stay, if you're sure about this."

 _No, this is a bad idea_ , his brain tells him. _There's no way this is going to end well._

"I'm sure," she replies, then moves to settle the covers.

He swallowed, ignoring his own warning as he positioned himself on the edge of the bed, sure to keep a careful distance from her.

 _You're a fucking idiot_ , his brain lets him know, and he ignores it all the more as he settles into a comfortable sleep.

 

  
**Sansa**

  
Sansa has known since that first night that Jon somehow makes her feel safe enough in her sleep that the nightmares doesn't get too bad.

She would've suggested this sort of sleeping arrangement sooner if it didn't make her feel weird. She didn't even know him well.

And after a few days actually getting to know him, it became too much to ask. He was already doing so much to help her.

But then earlier today he'd offered himself for her to sleep on, and who was Sansa to say no to that?

She may have gotten a little carried away, too, but when she'd woken up in his arms, it felt like it was the first time she'd fallen asleep in years.

And now that she'd felt how it could be, not getting tormented by her monsters every time she shuts her eyes, she's not sure she could keep going the way she was.

It took her a while to muster up the courage last night. She wouldn't know what to do if he said no, so it's a cycle of walking towards his room and then talking herself out of it.

Finally, she decided to just head in. He's Jon, he won't be an asshole about it even if he said no. She could take it.

She shifted on the bed, all too aware of his body pressed against her.

She'd still endured a nightmare last night, but for the first time ever it wasn't too bad. Just when her nightmares was starting to get worse, she'd felt Jon pull her into his chest, whispering, "you're okay, you're safe," repeatedly into her ear.

It had done its job, effectively slowing down her racing heart when she realized where she was, her brain chanting its usual sentiments that Jon is safe and she lets herself bury her face in his chest, and slowly falls back into sleep.

"Morning," he mumbled into her hair after a moment. "You okay?"

Looking up at him, she gave him a small grateful smile. "Yeah, thanks."

"Don't mention it," he assured, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

The sane thing to do would be to leave his bed and go on with her day, but it feels too good being wrapped in his arms and she let herself be stupid for a moment longer.

He's so close, and she's staring but she can't look away. Slowly, she raised her hand to his forehead, tracing the scar there. It starts an inch below his hairline and ends just above his eyebrow.

"How did you get it?" She asked, voice barely above whisper.

She'd wondered about it since seeing it; it's the only thing different from the picture she used to hide in her pillowcase, and she badly wanted to know.

But -- well, it seemed rude to ask. And it's not like he goes around asking her where she got her scars. But it could also just be because he doesn't know about them.

"Sorry," she says in realization, pulling her hand away. "I didn't mean to pry, I - "

"It's alright, I don't mind," he told her. "It's just -- it's not a happy story. You sure you want to know?"

"Only if you want me to." She waits for him to continue, giving him the chance to change his mind if he wanted. She won't mind if he wants to keep it to himself, she's all too familiar with that herself.

He sucked in a deep breath. "It was from a few years ago. About three years now, I think. I went on an undercover mission with this group who call themselves Freefolk, and, uh - I was supposed to gather intel, figure out what their plans are and stop it before it happens -

"Going in, I thought they were the enemy. I was taught that they were the enemy. But while I was with them I learned that we were up against a bigger threat and that aligning ourselves with the Freefolk would help defeat that threat."

He paused, a curious expression on his face as he studied her, like he's not sure he should say - almost like he wants to shield her from it. Then he took a deep breath and went on with his story, anyway.

"So I went back after my mission and gave my recommendations - " he winced. "Some of the higher-ups weren't too happy with my report and what action I suggested we take. We've been after the Freefolk for years, before I even joined the institute, and suddenly I was saying we align ourselves with them.

"It got around that I've been compromised. That I switched sides and was doing the Freefolk's bidding to infiltrate camp. People didn't trust me anymore and, uh - " he cleared his throat, making a face. "Some of my brothers - that's what we called each other in the Agency - they, uh... they invited me out for drinks on one of our day off but -- but it escalated quickly."

He laughed, this bitter, hollow laugh that stung deep in her chest. She had no idea he went through this kind of thing and it hurts her, thinking about it.

He blew out a big breath. "I don't even remember much of it. I just remember that first stab to the stomach, and the next one, but I lost consciousness soon after that. I thought I was going to die."

He shook his head, and she can tell that this still bothers him. Of course it would. "I was with people I thought were my enemies for a whole year and I get back to the people who were supposed to be my brothers -- and they tried to kill me."

"I'm sorry," she said, shutting her eyes. She moved her arm to hug him, comfort him somehow.

"Don't be," he said. "You didn't do anything."

"Still," she said. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm glad you didn't die."

To think that if those men had succeeded, Jon wouldn't be there with her right now, giving her what she thought she'd lost all those years ago.

He chuckled, this low sound that reververates in her chest. It comforts her more than she could say.

He places a soft kiss to her temple, "I'm glad I didn't, either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, oh man, oh man! That leaked commentary and the bit about Jon telling Ghost to protect Sansa is tempting me to bring Ghost into the story much earlier, but I'm trying to contain myself. 
> 
> Anyway, this whole chapter is a result of my love of reading fics where a young Sansa comes to Jon for comfort after a bad dream. Hahaha. I hope you guys enjoyed! :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, Jon. So... I looked into Ramsay Bolton like you asked and I haven't found anything concrete yet, nothing on where he could be hiding - but I did find something, I just don't know if it's useful for you."
> 
> "What is it?" he asked, glancing at Sansa. "Tell me."

 

**Jon**

  
Still," Sansa said thoughtfully after he'd told her a little about his past, her fingers drawing circles on his chest. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm glad you didn't die."

The sentiment makes him chuckle, glancing at her. He didn't think she was joking but the look on her face almost makes his heart leap out of his chest.

He pulled her closer to him, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm glad I didn't, either," he admits.

Some of his brothers called it a miracle that he's still alive.

Jon never really believed that, considered it more a curse than a gift, but lying there with Sansa in his arms, he thinks maybe that's the reason he survived all those years ago.

For her, so he could be in that moment with her. It's crazy to think so but he can't really help it.

The moment is cut off by the ringing of his phone.

They both startle, as though caught doing something they shouldn't be, and he grabs his phone instantly to shut it off.

He was just about to, when he sees Sam's name in the caller ID.

He made a face, sitting up. "It's uh - a friend of mine. I gotta take this," he tells her as he picked up the call, pressing the phone to his ear. "Hey Sam, what's up?"

"Hey, Jon. So... I looked into Ramsay Bolton like you asked and I haven't found anything concrete yet, nothing on where he could be hiding - but I did find something, I just don't know if it's useful for you."

"What is it?" he asked, glancing at Sansa. "Tell me."

Some part of Jon wants to go outside for this call, not wanting Sansa to hear it, but if he does that then she'd only think he's hiding something.

He's not -- really, when something comes up, the moment Sam finds something that leads directly to Ramsay, then Jon would tell her, but not a moment before.

It would be unnecessary to make her worry about it right now when she have other things to focus on.

Like starting over.

She starts in a new school next week; she's going to meet new people and make new friends. That's what he wants her to think about - not Ramsay Bolton.

He's already taken enough space in her mind for Jon to let him take any more.

"Okay, so, there are a few things I found that may or may not help. I'm still digging into it but there's this one thing I noticed while going through his accounts..."

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Sansa waving a hand to him. He turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

She points to the door, mouthing 'shower,' to him which implies that she's going to shower. He swallowed, feeling heat rush up his face at the thought of it. He nods to her to show that he understands and watched as she left the room.

Gods, he's a mess.

"...Jon - still there?"

Sam's voice shakes him back into the conversation. He clears his throat, making a face. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. Go on, Sam."

"Right. So, all agencies have access to all of Ramsay's known accounts and had it frozen so it's pretty useless as far as tracking him with it goes, but this is what they used to track down everyone he ever made a deal with. The Karstarks, the Umbers -- remember? It was the biggest crack to crime in years, so I figured it was still worth checking. " Sam paused. "Anyway, every deal Ramsay ever made is on here, he's not very smart about it. Well, some are more difficult to trace than others but there's always a trail. All except one.

"About two and a half years ago, Ramsay wired a payment of five million into an offshore account. I tried digging into it but it only leads to another offshore account and another and another and - well, you get the point. It's very well-hidden, there's a trail but you still won't find where the money ends up going."

"Okay," Jon said, trying to figure out where Sam's getting at. He knows there's something he's missing but he just can't figure it out. "Which means..?"

"Which means," Sam said slowly. "there's someone out there that Ramsay knew that's smart enough not to get caught. Someone who's still out there, running free. "

"Oh. Okay, that's good," Jon said in understanding, eyes widening. "That means there's someone powerful who could have helped him escape - okay, I mean that's not good for us but... it's something."

Jon blew out a breath, scratching his head. "Sam, thank you so much for this. This is a lot of help. "

"No problem," his friend replied. "But... are you planning to tell me what this is about?"

"I will. It's still very complicated," he said, apologetic. "When I see you I promise I'll tell you, I just can't right now."

"Okay then," Sam said softly. "Well, I'll keep digging, alright?"

"Alright. Thanks again, Sam."

Jon threw his phone on the bed, thinking. Sam's find is more than he could manage in the last three weeks.

It starts to make him hopeful. The end to Sansa's fears is finding Ramsay, it's starting to feel like he can do that for her.

His door creaks, making him turn. It's Sansa, peeking her head in, smiling at him. "Hey, I'm done. Want to help me make breakfast?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You know how to cook?"

"It shouldn't be that hard," she said easily, making his eyebrow arch higher. She notices his expression and smirks. "You don't agree?"

"No," he confirmed. "But I'd still like to see you try cooking with that attitude."

She snorted and walks off, leaving his door open as she headed downstairs. He follows her down and watched as she went through the fridge.

"So, what do you have in mind for the day?" He asked, leaning over the counter as he watched her take out the strawberries from the fridge. "That's not considered cooking, by the way."

She stared at him, unimpressed. "I'm making strawberry pancakes, stop being a dick." He laughed at the comment as she continued with her work. "And I don't know, maybe we could walk around, see if anywhere's interesting?"

"Okay, sure," he said, easy, leaning over to watch as she poured the pancake mix into a bowl.

"That's it?" She asked, surprised. "You're not going to say no?"

He frowned. "Should I?"

"I mean, don't we need to be careful? With Ramsay running free out there - "

"Okay, hold that thought. Even if you stay here for the rest of your life, Ramsay would still be out there." He won't let her stop living her life because of that fucker, he just won't. "Him being out there somewhere doesn't mean you stop living your life. Besides," he added, tilting his head. "Your parents are paying me a lot of money, I'm gonna have to earn it somehow."

"What?"

He shrugged. "If you stay here all the time then what do you need me for?"

It's the truth; the house is already well-guarded. There's CCTVs on every block, and two guards watching at all times.

Jon doesn't have to do much. It's like Ned Stark hired Jon just to be with Sansa.

He's not complaining. Obviously he likes that concept, it's just...

Weird.

"Who said I need you?" Sansa asked him challengingly, eyebrow raised.

"It's what I'm saying," he told her with a grin. "You don't, that's why we have to make me useful."

She was obviously joking and his response wasn't what she was expecting. The incredulous expression on her face is enough evidence of that.

He smiles and keeps quiet after that, just watching as she read the instruction on the box of the pancake mix and then tried to follow it.

She actually seemed to be doing pretty good, at least until it comes to the cactual cooking.

She burns the pancakes on her first three tries, and he really tries so hard not to laugh at how frustrated she looks each time but she catches his expression immediately when she turns to him.

"You're a jerk," she lets him know, trying not to smile herself. "Fine, you do it then."

He laughed a little, pushing himself off the counter to take her offered spatula.

He nails it the first time, obviously, and even teased Sansa by flipping it expertly on the pan.

She scoffs. "When did you even learn to cook?"

"I was always on kitchen duty my first year at the academy," he tells her as he transferred the last of the pancakes onto a plate. "I mostly did the dishes but I spent so much time there I befriended the cook, Hobb, and he taught me how."

He hands her the plate of the ones he made then takes the ones she burned for himself.

She crunches her nose, frowning at him. "You're not seriously going to eat that, are you? We can share this one." She pushed her plate in the middle as an offering but he pushed it back to her.

"It's fine, I like it burned," he assured, grinning at how unconvinced she is.

He laughed when she just keeps staring and grabbed a fork, just to show her that he will absolutely eat it.

He's pretty sure it's a talent, just how burned she got it, but he takes a huge bite, even if it ends up tasting like ash.

"Delicious," he tells her with a smile, giving her a thumb's up.

She shook her head, biting back a smile. "You're an idiot."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She turned to Jon, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "You're not going to let anyone hit on me, are you?"
> 
> He frowned, evidently taken off guard by the question. "Of course not. Why?"

**Sansa**

  
Sansa frowned as she watched Jon devour the last of his pancakes, wondering what the hell he's thinking.

Gods, it barely even looked edible - and he ate all of it.

"Are you trying to guilt me into never cooking again?" She asked as he washed it down with milk. If that's what he's doing then it's working. "You didn't have to eat it, you know."

"Why not?" He asked with a little smile. "That way when you become a pro, I'd know how much you've improved."

"Or we can be realistic and you just cook for the both of us next time," she offered as she stood up, taking away the plates. "Then I can just do the dishes. Deal?"

"Deal." He nodded, easy, and brings the glasses to the sink. "So, we still on to go out?"

"Uh..." She trailed off, trying not to make a face. "Sure."

She doesn't really know what she was thinking when she suggested that. It just felt like a good idea at the time.

She didn't really get to see much from their drive because she was asleep for most of it but she figured it's better if she familiarized herself with the place.

She notices Jon watching her carefully, giving her the opportunity to change her mind and when she doesn't say anything else, he steps away.

"Alright," he said with a nod. "I'll tell Brienne and Podrick and then get ready."

"Okay," she agreed and started on the dishes.

Sansa headed up to her room after she's done and changed into her usual jean and shirt combo.

She used to always love dressing up. It always made her feel good, throwing on cute dresses and matching shoes, but after what happened, it just didn't feel like _her_ anymore.

When she got back to Winterfell and saw all those designer clothes she used to own - it made her feel tainted, somehow. Like she isn't someone who can wear those pretty things anymore. But...

But sometimes this doesn't feel like her, either. It feels like hiding.

She shook the thought away, trying not to think about it anymore, and grabbed her purse before making her way back down to meet Jon.

"So," she said to him with a deep breath, trying to brace herself. "What's there to see?"

"There's a park nearby or we can go check out your school if you want," he suggested. "There's also the mall just five blocks away, if you're interested. Watch a movie or something."

She thought about it.  
Going to the park, maybe. She can probably get Jon to walk with her so it's not boring, but walking outside is not really enticing at the moment. The mall has more options but nothing fun if he has to be working.

"How will this whole bodyguard thing work anyway?" She asked tentatively. "Are you just going to follow me around like a robot or - "

"Nope," he cut off, like he can hear what she's thinking. "We can just hang out if that's what you want."

What she wants... "Really?" She asked, unconvinced. That's not usually how this goes. She's starting to doubt Jon knows how his job works. "Have you done this before? I'm starting to think I have more experience with your job than you do."

He laughed, the corner of his eyes wrinking in that adorable way it does. "I've only been on security detail once so so I'm pretty sure you do. What was it - six bodyguards before me?"

"Nine," she corrected smugly. "That's why dad assigned Tym and Hal to me, so I'd feel guilty if I tried to get them fired."

"It'd be a shame if you did, they've been with your family for a long time," he agreed before tilting his head curiously at her. "What about me, would you try and get me fired?"

She smirked. "Still deciding on if you're fit to be number ten."

He feigned hurt, putting a hand on his chest. "Mean."

She grinned. "Seriously though, we can hang out?" She asked hopefully.

He nodded in confirmation. "I don't really have a specific job outside of keeping you safe and I'm doing that so it's fine."

"Alright." She smiled. "If that's the case then I think the mall is better."

They went to the cinema, like Jon suggested, and he gives her free reins in choosing what to watch. She doesn't really have strong opinions about it so she goes with an action flick.

Jaime Lannister is starring on it and she remembers Robb and Jon loving his films when they were kids, recreating the scenes on the couch and pissing her mother off endlessly.

She figured he'd like it but as it turns out, Jon thinks that the entire movie is wrong and invalid.

"Tried that before," he whispers into her ear as Jaime Lannister jumped from a two-storey house as he fled the scene. "Broke my ass."

She giggled. "Did you really?"

"Yeah, my squad made fun of me for months after," he told her. "It was the first months of training. Seemed like a great idea at the time."

"I wonder where you got it from," she teased.

"That guy, probably," he joked nodding at the screen, then scowled at the next scene where the bad guy ends up kicking a wall pretty hard and still comes out unscathed.

"Seriously?" Jon groaned next to her. "He should have a broken toe nail, at the very least."

She laughed loudly at that, immediately covering her mouth as not to piss off other viewers.

The movie in itself isn't that special. Sansa's not very into the genre and some of the violent parts did make her uncomforable but it was honestly worth it to hear Jon's commentary on the whole thing.

He's really, really passionate about pointing out the inaccuracies, and it's extremely adorable how worked up he got over it.

Honestly, It's the best time she's had in years.

They buy take-aways afterwards, including food for brienne and the rest of the guys.

Only Brienne and Podrick are with them as the morning shift but they didn't want to eat so Sansa figured they could just buy food for everybody for when they get home instead.

They're on their way out of the mall, food in tow, when she sees the dress on the window of a boutique.

It's pretty in an obscure kind of way. Just mostly grey tones, but it caught her eye immediately.

She was just thinking about this whole thing earlier and now it seems kind of like a sign.

She turned to Jon, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "You're not going to let anyone hit on me, are you?"

It was a big motivating factor in changing the way she dressed.

She remembers how it was, dressed up in pretty and colorful dresses. It gave people an excuse to come up to her, even when it's unwelcome.

It was easier to deal with it when she was still the old _Sansa Stark_ , much less so now. Gods, even with the clothes she wears now she gets hit on and it always makes her shake with fear.

It just didn't seem worth it to bring even more attention to herself. But...

But maybe it could be different. None of her past guards really cared unless she was in actual physical danger but she doubts Jon would be like that.

She's still only getting to know him but somehow she's sure that he wouldn't let anyone disrespect her.

It sucks that that's the only way to feel safe about it but it's better than nothing.

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for his reply even though she already knew what it would be.

He frowned, evidently taken off guard by the question. "Of course not. Why?"

"Just wanted to be sure," she said before walking towards the store.

 

 

  
**Jon**

  
Jon had noticed her get-up before, he just never let himself dwell on it.

The way Sansa dresses is probably the most obvious difference he saw in her, that first time.

He remembers how much she loved to dress up when they were younger; always parading around the estate in her new set of clothes and paying special attention to them for parties. Not to mention how much effort she made into what she wore for school.

He even remembers Arya always moaning and groaning about it, claiming Sansa's the reason why their mother always bugs her about wearing dresses herself, even when she doesn't want to.

He might say that Sansa doesn't care about what she wears anymore but that's not quite true, either.

Even with her current wardrobe he can tell how deliberate she is; always trying not to put too much attention to herself.

He wasn't surprised by it, really, but it did make him feel bad. It seemed like another thing that was taken away from her.

"How do I look?"

Jon straightened up from the door of the dressing room, turning behind to look at Sansa.

He offers her a smile, hoping his face doesn't look like he'd just been sucker punched.

"You look pretty," he tells her, keeping his voice levelled.

It's a fucking understatement but saying more than that might be weird. She always looks pretty, anyway. This is just a new side to pretty and he can handle himself, _damn it_.

"Thanks," she said with a shy smile before turning to look at the dress in the mirror. "I think I'm gonna buy it."

"We can look at some shoes too, if you want," he offered, staring at her bare feet.

"Maybe next time," she agreed, turning to him. "Baby steps."

His lips quirked up and he nodded. "Baby steps."

They don't stay at the mall long after that but all in all it seemed like a good trip. In fact, Sansa seemed to enjoy it.

He wasn't really sure she was going to. He was expecting her to be how she was during that trip with her mom and Arya but it wasn't like that at all.

When he considers it it, though, he thinks it might be because they're in a smaller town. Less crowded. And possibly the fact that twenty men in suit weren't watching and following her around helped.

There's just two this time, and Jon, but it seemed to make a big difference.

Whatever the case, he's glad it turned out fine. She starts school in a week and he wants to make it as easy as possible for her. He thinks it might help if she gets used to people and if she's not constantly scared of being around too many of them.

After eating the food they brought home, Sansa gets a call from her parents checking up on her and she locks herself in her room to talk to them, which gives him time to unpack his things.

It wasn't that he didn't have the time before, it's just that he dislikes unpacking and now he doesn't have a valid excuse to not do it.

He's not used to bringing so much stuff with him, considering he usually had to keep his things portable on missions.

He doesn't even own a lot of stuff in the first place. He gave away most of his mom's stuff when she died years ago and the important stuff, like documents and childhood memorabilias, are in storage.

All the stuff he owned at the wall, he brought with him, and it's still mostly just clothes, his gun and that picture frame that Gilly gave him - but even all that already feels a lot.

He sighed and got to work. He just has to get it out of the way so he doesn't have to deal with it later.

He's finishing up with the last of his shirts when Sansa comes in through the door.

She looks bright and happy and he couldn't help but mirror the smile on her face as she went in. Seeing her smile is starting to become his favorite thing in the world.

"Hey, good talk with your parents?" He asked.

"Yeah, it was," she agreed, flopping down the bed. "Mom said Robb might visit next weekend."

He turned to her, studying her expression. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm," she said distractedly, grabbing the frame on the bedside table. "She said so I can tell Robb about how my week in school goes. Is this your dog?"

She held the frame up to him, showing his favorite picture of himself in his Night's Watch uniform kneeling next to a seven-month-old albino dog.

"Yeah, it is. His name is Ghost."

The picture was taken years ago, just a few months after he got recruited into the Night's Watch.

Ghost was one of the K9s in training when Jon first got fo base but he didn't respond to any of the commands. Jon fell in love with Ghost immediately so he tried to secretly train him just so they'd let him stay in the base.

In the end he'd only respond when it's Jon himself making the commands and since he's in a different department they still couldn't use Ghost in rangings.

At least they let him stay, though, granted Jon take care of him in his own time.

"He looks so cute," she commented with a smile on her face.

He laughed at the cute part, considering he'd seen Ghost try to bite an arm off on command. "He's bigger now, actually. Are you sure you're not talking about me?"

She snorted. "You wish."

And, fuck, he really does.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "San, what happened?"
> 
> Vaguely, she can feel him come closer to her but she's stuck staring at anywhere but, trying to quiet down her mind. She's thinking too much and too little at the same time and she just --
> 
> "Can't - " she shook her head, tears coming unbidden. "Can't -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for panic attack. (just to be safe, you guys have been warned that it's coming.)

_Sansa_

  
The next few days comes and goes without any event and it's what makes Sansa feel a little on edge.

She's not used to the _calm_. Usually, she could always count on something to go wrong in her life but so far it's been fine.

She's starting to sleep better, go out more, enjoy the things she hasn't for the longest time and even she and Jon are starting to master a pattern of familiarity with each other.

Everything's starting to get good and she's afraid it won't last.

Which is why it makes her feel like everything was just building up to that point, right on the night before school starts.

Jon is still downstairs hashing out the details with Brienne and Pod for her first day of school and she left them just moments ago for her room when the panic started to build.

Hearing about the plans for tomorrow just made her realize how real everything is.

This used to be a far point in the future, easy to ignore when she doesn't want to think about it. And she never wanted to.

But now it's staring her right in the face with nowhere to turn to.

The whole going to college thing was an impulse decision. She remembers the day she suggested it, about only two months after getting back.

She didn't say it because she thought she was ready. She'd said it because she didn't want to be so obviously broken.

Everyone around her just seemed to have moved forward in their lives. Meanwhile, hers stopped when she was sixteen.

She realized it while going through all her abandoned social media accounts one day. She knew it was a terrible idea before she even logged in, but some part of her still wanted to see it.

She went through her profile first, reading through endless of messages her peers left there when she disappeared. It didn't make her feel anything; just numb.

Her friends Jeyne and Beth posted on her profile more than the others, tagging her in stuff with statements like "we miss you San :( x" and whatnot.

She went through their pages next, scrolling through the last couple of years of their lives, wondering at which point they decided to stop grieving their missing friend.

It's not that she wanted them to be as miserable as she had been the past few years, its that she had to go through what she did in the first place, when she could've been happy too, like they are.

She went through the pages of a few more friends she remembered, including the ones in King's Landing, and it was all the same on a wholescale.

People with memories spanning into years that she'd missed - that was when it hit.

She _envied_ them.

They're right where she always wanted to be; in college studying what she wants, hanging out with friends, starting on her future and broadening her horizons - instead, all she has are these horrible memories of Baelish and of Ramsay, of being treated like a toy and just -- three years worth of trauma she can't move past from.

She thought she just needed to get back on track to feel okay again; to get herself back. It didn't take much long for her to realize that it's not happening.

Sansa Stark dug her own grave the moment she trusted Petyr Baelish and this - this person trying to climb her way out of the mud is crazy to think she can ever get back all that she lost.

The thought is too much and by the time Jon gets into the room, Sansa's sitting in a corner, tears in her eyes, as she struggled to breathe.

She couldn't go anywhere else, couldn't hide before he saw her, it just started to happen and she couldn't make it stop.

It has happened to her so many times before. The panic always coming so strongly and quickly that all she can do is wait it out.

"San, what happened?"

Vaguely, she can feel him come closer to her but she's stuck staring at anything but, trying to quiet down her mind. She's thinking too much and too little at the same time and she just --

"Can't - " she shook her head, the tears coming unbidden. "Can't - Jon, I ca... breathe - I can't - "

She can't think properly, either. The room is just too small and hot and everything seems to be closing in on her and she feels suffocated and tight and she wants to vomit and -

"Sansa," Jon took her hand slowly, trying to call her attention. "Sansa, look at me."

She does, her eyes instantly finding his in its own volition. His voice is gentle; soothing, and he looks at her so softly even when she can see the worry clear in her eyes and she'd tell him that she's fine so he doesn't look so worried anymore but she still can't seem to catch her breath.

"It's okay, you're okay," he told her, calm, as he took her hand. "Breathe. Just look at me and breathe with me, yeah?"

His voice is low, not quite demanding but it gets across through the chaos in her mind. "It's just you and me here, no one else. You're safe."

He lays her hand flat on his chest, right over his heart, and she feels the steady pulse there as he starts to inhale and exhale deeply in front of her, urging her to copy his actions.

She can't at first, her breathing still erratic and her mind trying to pull her back into panic, but he just keeps going, and she watches as he does it again and again, breathing in and out and in and out and

in

and

out

and

in

and

out

"That's good," he says in a soft voice when she starts to copy him. "You're doing good. Keep going."

He keeps at it for a while until she feels her breathing come to normal again. The moment it does, she jumps into his lap on instinct, burying her head on his neck and trying to find some comfort.

His arms come around her instantaneously and she feels herself relax even more. This feels right, somehow. Like he's the most familiar place in the world. Safe.

"Want to talk about it?"

She doesn't but it feels like she owes him an explanation for what just happened.

She pulled back a little to look at him. "I just - " she sniffed, wiping away the tears that are starting to dry on her cheeks.

"I was listening to you guys go over the security stuff for tomorrow and it got..." She tried to think of the right word. "Overwhelming. It just got too much and suddenly everything - this - " she shook her head as she chewed on her lip, finding it difficult to tell him something without giving away too much. "I just started thinking that going here was a bad idea."

"How so?"

She shrugged, looking down the floor so he won't be able to read her thoughts. "It just feels like it's too much for me to handle."

"Maybe you should look at it differently."

She looked up with a frown, a silent question on her face.

"I mean..." he continued. "Looking at it as a whole can get pretty scary but approaching it one day at a time might help. Come on," he adds, urging her to get up.

She does and he leads her to his study table where the blueprints he's been reading the past week is laid there.

"So, forget about the entire four years of college and just focus on tomorrow, right?" He points at a spot on the map. "Tomorrow at eight, we'll be here. This is the dean's office, we'll meet with him as courtesy. He's a friend of your dad's and he wanted to welcome you personally but the whole thing would probably only be half an hour at most and then that's done. Next, we walk here." He traces his finger from the Dean's office to the other side of the map to a bigger box. "This is your lecture hall for public speaking. It's the first day so it's probably just easy stuff. The class starts at nine, it goes on for three hours so it ends at lunch. And that's it, that's your monday."

He looked up at her, smiling softly. "Doable right?"

She nodded slowly, thoughful. "I guess."

 

  
**Jon**

  
Jon finds that he can't fall asleep that night, laying there next to Sansa as he watched her.

He can tell that she's not asleep, either. Her body is stiff, her breathing different and there's a crease in her brows that tells him she's still thinking about something serious.

He brushed her hair back softly, privately wishing he could wash all her fears away. He still can't understand why anyone could ever seek to hurt her.

Slowly, shifted closer to press a kiss to her brow. "Go to sleep, San."

She opened her eyes, ceasing the pretense of sleeping.

"How do you always know what to do?" She asked, like it's actually bothering her.

He frowns. He's not really sure he understands. "What do you mean?"

"You just always seem to know how to make me feel better."

"Do I?" He asked, genuinely surprised to hear that. "I don't know. I'm just always hoping it works."

"It does," she lets him know. "Thank you... I don't think I've said."

"You don't have to," he assured with a shake of his head.

She rolled her eyes teasingly, obviously expecting him to say that. Her expression makes him laugh a little.

"Seriously, though," she adds, her eyes fluttering close. "I always imagined seeing you again but _this_ feels like the fantasy."

He frowns again, still having a hard time following her train of thoughts. "I'm not sure I follow."

She lips quirked up like this is another thing she expects him to say. "It's for me to know."

She opened her eyes again and leaned in, making him hold his breath as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Jon."

Releasing his breath slowly when she falls back to her side, he echoes back the sentiment, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

 _Gods_ , she doesn't even know what those kind of things does to him. How it turns his brain into mush.

He keeps watching her for a while; waits for her breathing to steady and her face to soften as she fell into slumber, before he lets himself sleep as well.

In the morning when he wakes up, she's sprawled on top of him, face buried on the crook of his neck with her hair all over his face.

 _This is new_ , came the unbidden thought. But at least he's not spooning her like last time.

Now, _that_ was embarrassing. He'd jumped off the bed as soon as he woke up, feeling the heat rush up his face and so very grateful that Sansa hadn't woken up first.

He always prided himself in sleeping like a rock. It's a useful talent for someone like him who sleeps in the most unusual places, while undercover or on the run.

But something about Sansa just makes him feel _too_ comfortable in his sleep.

 _Well_ , he thought as he blew a strand of her hair from his mouth. At least he's not the only one.

He's aware of his own reasons, of course. He just has this fierce desire to shower her with affection; show her that she's loved even when she doesn't believe it.

He knows it might scare her, though, so he reins it in. While he can do that when he's awake, it's not as achievable when he's asleep and unaware of his actions.

Maybe his subconscious is just doing what he can't when he's awake. Whatever, he's not a fucking psychologist. He doesn't know these things.

Carefully, he gets Sansa back on her side of the bed before getting up.

He's learned that it's better to wake up and be out of bed before she does. It makes it easier for him to pretend that its not happening, something he assumes they've mutually agreed on since they don't ever acknowledge it.

It's better that way, though. Simpler.

Brienne and Podrick are already dressed and drinking their coffee when he gets down, ready to relieve Tym and Hal from their posts in a few minutes or so.

"Morning," he greeted before starting on his and Sansa's breakfast.

It's starting to become a routine. Him making them breakfast while she sleeps, sometimes while she's in the shower. They'll eat together when she comes down, and then he'll shower while she cleans up. After, they'd hang out on the lounge and find the shittiest films to watch or go out, depending on what she feels like doing.

It's only been a week since they got to Riverrun and Jon's starting to get worried with how easily he's slipping into this life.

He tries to remind himself that it is not his life, that letting himself fall into the trap would just bite him in the ass later, but no matter how much he tries not to, he's _falling_ anyway.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry?" Sansa inquired with a tight smile, her throat locking in.
> 
> "Your boyfriend," the girl repeated with a sheepish smile. "He's not in this class?"
> 
> Sansa considers correcting her for maybe for half a second before changing her mind.

**Sansa**

  
"I know you'll do fine," Jon said, whispering close to her so she's the only one to hear. "but if you need anything, I'll just be right out the door."

Sansa nodded wordlessly, gaze focused on him and how confident in her he looks.

Around them, the room is starting to fill up with students, which is the cue for him to leave her and go to his post outside the door.

He'd already swept the room when they were alone earlier, he'd also quizzed her endlessly on the protocol if any danger arose.

If anything happens, she knows where he would be and the quickest way to get to him. A part of her, though, still isn't so sure that she could let him leave her.

It was easier to think that this would be easy when she was atill at home, or after the meeting with the Dean had left her feeling confident, or even just minutes ago when the room had still been empty save for her and Jon.

But now it's full; the students around her starting to get comfortable and conversing with one another.

She's glad that this is, at least, the first day in college for most of them, too.

She knows most of her classmates are just fresh out of high school, and while she would be a lot older than they are and a lot less familiar with the school atmosphere, it does give her some comfort to know that this is new for them too.

Still, this should have been so easy for her before. She was Sansa Stark, afterall. _The social butterfly._

Once upon a time, there was no kind of social situation that she couldn't handle.

She was the kid her parents paraded around at events, always the most willing and confident to entertain the guests. She was always graceful and polite, completely aware of her talent to charm even the snobbiest of people.

That was before everything happened, though. Now even the smallest conversations tend to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Your boyfriend isn't in this class?"

Sansa shifts her attention from the door where Jon just disappeared to, to the person who'd spoken.

It's a girl two seats from Sansa, maybe a year or two younger than her, with bright green hair and a friendly smile. She's sitting alone too, unlike most of the others who are bundled up in groups.

 _You can do this,_ she tells herself. She may not feel like Sansa Stark anymore but she can, at the very least, pretend.

"I'm sorry?" Sansa inquired with a tight smile, her throat feeling just locking in.

"Your boyfriend," the girl repeated with a sheepish smile. "He's not in this class?"

Sansa considers correcting her for maybe for half a second before changing her mind.

She doesn't really want to explain what Jon is right now, especially to a stranger. Instead, she just gives a slight shake of her head. "No, he's not."

"Oh. Would you mind if I sat next to you?"

The girl looks at her hopefully and it's the first time Sansa realizes that this whole thing might be nerve-wracking for everyone else too.

While the girl is hiding this fact extremely well, it still shows in her eyes.

Instantly, her instincts kick in, smiling at the younger girl more genuinely this time. "Sure, go ahead."

She smiled at Sansa thankfully, immediately transferring to the seat Jon had vacated just moments ago.

"Wylla Manderly," she said once she's settled on the chair, holding a hand out to Sansa.

Sansa sucked in a deep breath, somehow not thinking of physical introductions. Stupid of her, all things considering. She reached out tentatively, giving the girl's - Wylla's - hand a single shake before releasing it immediately after.

"Sansa," she says as an afterthought, seeing the girl look at her expectantly. "Nice to meet you."

"Oh shit," Wylla gasped out suddenly, eyes widening a bit. "I knew I'd seen you somewhere. I thought you might be a model or something - but you're Sansa Stark, right?"

Her voice is at least low enough that nobody else has started paying attention but it still makes Sansa's guard go up tenfold.

It's not a surprise, of course. She was bound to be recognized at some point, either as Ned Stark's daughter or the girl who went missing four years ago.

"Yeah, that's me," she admitted slowly, face not betraying her disappointment to be recognized so soon. "Definitely not a model," she adds as a way to subtly change the topic.

"Well, you could pass as one. Your boyfriend too - you're both unrealistically hot."

Wylla's smiling unabashedly at her, and though completely different from her sister, she's reminded of Arya's unapologetic tongue all the same.

Sansa, despite herself, smiled. "Thanks, I guess?"

Wylla grinned. "Sorry, my granddad always said I have no filter."

"It's alright," Sansa said, regretting it almost instantly when Wylla speaks up again, her face going serious.  
  
"Hey, by the way, that was messed up, what happened to you," she said, frowning. "It's good they caught that guy who did it."

Sansa's smile turns hard; guarded. "Yeah, it is."

_If only they managed to keep it that way._

There's a media blackout regarding Ramsay's escape, so people doesn't know that he's no longer in police custody.

That was probably on President Stannis' orders. He might be thinking that he could resolve the issue quietly, find Ramsay before the news broke.

For all she knows, he might be an extremely capable leader for Westeros, but she doesn't know him. She, however, knows Ramsay well. He wouldn't let himself get caught again.

It's not a conversation she wants to delve into, and she's familiar enough with people like Wylla to know that it's up to her to take control of the conversation if she wants to steer it elsewhere.

"So, are you from here or...?"

A simple question but enough to get Wylla enthusiastically talking about her hometown, White Harbor.

The conversation lasts until the professor finally comes in and everybody quiets down.

The professor introduces herself first, and then the course outline, handing out a three-paged syllabus for the class to refer to.

They go over the house rules, grading system and then the actual course outline, and somehow all this lasts for three hours without Sansa noticing.

"Next week's assignment," the professor calls out before dismissing them. "Introductions. Write a two minute speech about yourself, make it short and interesting. You will be performing it in front of the class. That's all for today. Dismissed."

Sansa sighed, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She was expecting this, too, of course. It's public speaking for gods' sake.

But still.

Wylla turns to her as soon as the students starts piling out, taking Sansa's attention from her thoughts.

"My roommate and I are meeting for lunch with some of our other dorm mates, if you wanted to come?"

Sansa has two choices here: go with Wylla and make an effort to make friends or go home and subject herself to a friendless four years in college.

Maybe that's thinking ahead of herself. There could be other opportunities to make friends - but if she doesn't try now then who's to say she would ever?

"Uh, sure," she finally decided, gathering her own things before heading out of the door.

As expected, Jon's right outside, dutifully waiting for her to come out. He straightens up when he sees her, raising an eyebrow in intrigue as she walked over with Wylla following behind.

"We're going to lunch," she declares simply before turning to her new acquaintance. "You don't mind if he - "

"Oh no, of course not," she says immediately, not even waiting for Sansa to finish her sentence. "The more the merrier."

"Right. Well, Wylla this is Jon," she introduced, turning to him. "Jon, this is Wylla."

Sansa's only a little nervous about their introduction, remembering the tiny little detail she hadn't mentioned to Wylla about Jon.

 _The thing is_ , she tries to reason with herself. _Jon is hard to explain._

Of course, she could simply say that he's her bodyguard and leave it at that but it just doesn't seem enough. He's her friend too - also, arguably, her only working support system - and it's not something she wants to have to explain.

So she goes with the charade.

When they got to the cafeteria, they bought their lunch first before heading to the table where Wylla's friends are.

"Guys, this is Sansa and Jon," she introduced when they get there, placing her tray on the table. "They're joining us for lunch. Sansa, Jon, this is - " she points at the girl closest to her, "Roslin Frey, my roommate. Then there's Jynessa Blackmont, Alyn Haigh and Lewys Piper."

"Nice to meet you," Sansa says politely, giving them a small smile.

"Go ahead and sit," Wylla encouraged, grinning at them.

Sansa nodded in thanks and took a deep breath before sitting on the free space in their table. She can do this.

She turned to glance at Jon, still standing right behind her, and she scowls before dragging him down to sit.

Jon frowns, looking at her in confusion.

"Please don't do that," she whispered pleadingly. "Can we just pretend that you're not - you know - "

"What's up with that guy?" One of the guys, Alys, said loudly, grabbing Sansa's attention from her conversation with Jon.

Their entire table follows his gaze and, to her dismay, sees that he's referring to Podrick.

According to Jon, Podrick's still new to the job, which means he's not as great at blending in as all the others guards that's been assigned to her.

But even aside from that, she remembers him from King's Landing. They attended the same school, Podrick a few years her senior, and even then he'd been clumsy.

Still, she knows she can't blame it all on him. It's impossible for anyone to be unnoticable wearing that suit and watching people.

Jon must've told him where they were. For some reason, she'd forgotten that he would be following them around. For an actual second she thought she was normal.

"Oh, that must be - " Wylla turns to her questioningly. "Is he your bodyguard or something?"

Sansa took a deep breath and nodded. _Here it goes_.

The other guy, Lewys, frowns. "Why would she - "

"She's Sansa Stark, idiot," Jynessa, Sansa thinks her name was, cut off easily. "She's like the president's daughter."

"My dad's not in office anymore," she replies, automatic.

"Oh. Well, still, that must be frustrating," Lewys says again, frown deepening. "Being followed around like that all the time."

Of course, it is frustrating, but it's not something she would tell strangers.

"Only if you don't know how to sneak away from them," she decides to say.

Her statement gets the reaction she was hoping for; surprise, a little incredulity and intrigue.

"Do you get in trouble for it?" Wylla asked, looking at her with a mischevous grin.

"All the time," she replied, easy.

Shallow topics are easier to answer than ones pertaining to how she feels, she needs only to lead the conversation there. It's a tactic she uses with her psychiatrist all the time.

"Gods, imagine getting grounded by the President of Westeros," Jynessa suddenly said, thoughtful. "Must be terrifying."

"My dad's a softie," she said, which isn't that much of a lie. Ned Stark has a weakspot when it comes his kids. "It's my mom that's strict."

Softly, Jon snorts next to her and she turned to him with a smile of her own. Okay, maybe she's oversimplifying it a bit. Her dad can be strict and scary too but mostly just when he's working.

"Your dad's a softie," Wylla repeated flatly, shaking her head disbelievingly. "Sounds fake."

It probably is hard to believe of a man who looks so grim all the time.

"I'm serious," she continued, grinning at how weirded out they seem of that fact. "He's the kind of dad who pretends to be strict when you do something crazy but would high five you when your mom's not looking."

"No way," Alys said, laughing. "That's so hard to imagine."

She's still cautious about them, of course, but these are easy topics. Nothing really personal about her or what she went through, just basic facts that has no implications if others knew them.

By the time her day ends and they get home, she thinks the day went very well.

It's different being in Winterfell and knowing that she could get away with what she used to; avoiding people and shutting them out.

Throw her in a situation where those aren't an option and the instincts just kick in naturally. Words and courtesy have always been her greatest defense.

"You're smiling," Jon noted when they get home.

She turned to him, biting her lip on a smile. "Today went well."

"It did," Jon agreed, his lips tugging up. "I'm really proud of you."

His words sends a weird fluttering in her stomach that she can't place, her smile growing wider.

"Thanks."

It's much later, while she's sitting on the kitchen counter as she watched him start on dinner, when the question comes to her.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" She asked all of a sudden.

She's not sure where the thought came from, but she's now only realizing that she hadn't thought of this before.

She's been cuddling with him every night for the past week and she never stopped to wonder if he had anyone special in his life that wouldn't like it if they found out.

She's pretty sure he would've told her, or just said no to her sleeping on his bed, if he did have a girlfriend, but she'd still like to be sure.

Jon looked up, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know." She flushed, suddenly feeling fidgety about it. "I just realized that I know nothing about you."

She looked back up, catching Jon frown as he opened the packet of pasta.

"That's not true," he said. "I tell you stuff about me all the time. You're the one who doesn't."

She just wanted a yes or no answer, damn.

"Fine," she huffed. "Answer my question and I'll answer one of yours."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you all for your support for this fic (and my other ones too) for the past year. Thank you all so much!!
> 
> Manigong bagong taon sa inyong lahat! (A prosperous new year to you all!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just think you're good at this."
> 
> He tilted his head, curious. "This?"
> 
> She nodded. "This. You're thoughtful and sweet and - " she shook her head, like she's struggling to put it into words. "You just know what to do."

**Jon**

 

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Jon paused, looking up at Sansa curiously. There's an unreadable expression on her face as she asked this - well, more than usual, anyway - like she's having an internal battle of sorts.

He swallowed, tentative. "Why do you ask?"

There's a tone in his voice - _hope_ , maybe? The question came completely out of nowhere. One second he was just telling her the steps to making a garlic parmesan pasta and then -

Well, _that_.

He didn't know what to think of it or if he even should. But -- It's the type of question you ask someone you're interested in, right?

Right?!

He sighed internally. He just never knows with Sansa.

It's probably not what he's hoping for, though. Especially since he knows he shouldn't even dare hope for it. She's not interested in him like that and it's unfair of him to want it - these these feelings should stop.

"I don't know," Sansa mumbled in a low voice, playing with her hands in an almost nervous manner. "I just realized that I know nothing about you."

He takes note of her gesture; he always finds himself hyper-aware of every little change in her body language, more than his job requires, and it's fucking insane.

He took the packet of pasta from the counter and tore it open to distract himself. He can't keep trying to read into the situation and he'd do that if he's looking at her and seeing these little details that probably mean nothing.

"That's not true. I tell you stuff about me all the time," he tells her, just to have something to say. "You're the one who doesn't."

"Fine. Answer my question and I'll answer one of yours." She says it off-handedly, like she doesn't even realize what she'd said.

It's a loaded offer, even if she may not have realized it yet. " _Any_ question?"

It's then that he sees it sink in, her walls going up so quickly that his heart sinks. It's a reaction he's seen more often than he'd like. He knows it's a coping mechanism; the only way she can thread through an unfamiliar situation without revealing anything.

It's completely understandable but still so heartbreaking to see.

"Yes," she says quietly, her face devoid of any emotion.

He sighed. He shouldn't have asked in the first place. He should've completely passed up on the offer, now that he thinks about it. _Fucking idiot_.

He knows she's only saying 'yes' out of stubborness and not actually because she means it. He's starting to get familiar with how she thinks and knows that to her, taking her words back would show weakness.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he finally says.

"Really?" She asked in surprise, curiousity peeking from her mask.

He raised an eyebrow, seeing an opportunity to make the situation a little lighter. "What? Am I so hot that it's so hard to believe I'm still single?"

The scowl is instantaneous, but even so, he sees the amusement there.

"No. Definitely not that." She chewed on her lip, thoughtful, and it's a struggle to stop himself from staring at her mouth. "I just think you're good at this."

He tilted his head, curious. "This?"

She nodded. "This. You're thoughtful and sweet and - " she shook her head, like she's struggling to put it into words. "You just know what to do."

 _I really don't_ , he wants to tell her.

She seems to think that this is all natural for him. That he wouldn't have to think about doing any of this for anyone else, that this is all a conscious effort.

The truth is, he has no clue what the fuck he's doing. All he knows is that he wants to make her happy and would go through any lengths to make it happen.

"Anyway, um... Thanks. For answering." Her mask comes back up. "Your turn. What's your question?"

He looks at her carefully, trying to come up with a response.

Of course, he knows what she's expecting him to ask. There's the obvious - what happened to her?

It's so easy to ask, too. She did offer to answer one of his question, and even if she talked around it or flatly refused to answer, he would still know.

Even her non-answers says a lot.

But no, those questions will have to remain unanswered until she decides she wants to tell him in her own free will. The time may never come, he knows, but he will never force her to share with him the darkest parts of herself that she wants to keep buried.

Suddenly, his phone rang, cutting the moment short, and he's relieved for it until he sees the caller ID.

"Hold that thought," he tells Sansa, frowning at his phone before answering the call. "Sir?"

Instantly, he sees Sansa perk up. It's usually Jory who calls for updates and whatnot, considering Ned Stark is a busy man, so him personally making this call means it's very important.

"Good evening, Jon," he says through the phone gruffly. "I received new intel on Ramsay's whereabouts and I thought I should personally tell you." He takes a pause. "Are you alone?"

"I'm alone, sir," he lied, giving Sansa a pointed look to warn her not to speak.

She nodded in understanding, walking over to him as she chewed on her lips nervously.

He knows she won't hear anything on the phone from where she's standing but she's watching his face intently, as though it would tell her anything she needs to know.

"Alright." Mr Stark clears his throat. "I received information from President Stannis himself that they'd found a lead on Ramsay, sent anonymously two days ago through a payphone."

If this new information came directly from Stannis Baratheon himself then it means it's legitimate.

Obviously, as President, he has plenty of resources at his disposal in tracking Ramsay, more so than Jon has. And he's met the man himself, knows that Stannis is a no-nonsense type of person. He wouldn't be talking about this lead if he didn't think it would pan out.

Still, Jon can't help but doubt it. He and Sam has been trying to track down Ramsay Bolton for a month, and while he can't say that they're better than the legion of intelligent agecies at a President's beck and call, Jon feels as though he's learned enough to know that Bolton is not an easy man find.

Bolton works dirty, Jon knows this from his research, but that doesn't mean he's not careful too.

If Sansa hadn't provided enough proof to nail Ramsay to the ground, they never would've been able to put him behind bars. But now he's out, and Jon doesn't think it would be as easy as receiving an anonymous tip to get him.

Jon says none of this, though, and just kept listening.

"Jon, the reason I'm calling is because my daughter might be in danger," Ned finally admits, his voice cracking in a way Jon never expected to hear. "The call was made in High Heart, just outside of Riverrun where the caller claims they found suspicious men with one fitting Ramsay's description hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. Legitimate or not, this is alarming information."

He kept listening as Ned Stark went on listing down further proof that supports the intel and the more he says the more Jon thinks it might actually be possible.

He feels his body tense as it becomes a real possibility, and Sansa catches his expression immediately, making her frown.

"I'm sending in more men your way," Ned adds after a pause, worry evident in his voice. "How many men would you reccommend you need? I have thirty armed guards I could send right now if need be."

 _Thirty armed guards?_ It might put less strain on him and make his job easier, especially with things on high alert right now. If this was any other job he'd take it, no question. But --

He turned at Sansa. There's no way she's going to feel safe with that many armed men around her. It might only make her feel more anxious in light of everything.

He made a face. He's not thinking objectively here; he hasn't done so in a while. All he can think of is Sansa and letting his heart decide on what would be best for her.

"Does he have enough manpower to attack, sir?" Jon asked, trying to think of a middle ground here.

He has to wait a minute before Ned responds. "No. Based on what we have, he doesn't have a lot of men at his disposal, unlike before." He took a deep breath. "Everyone who used to be in his payroll are behind bars save from the four that escaped with him. Right now we think he's still re-grouping but even so, I don't like how close his location is to Sansa."

Of course, he has the right to worry. It's his daughter they're talking about here, he would send a thousand men if that's how much he thought they need to keep Sansa safe, but Jon has to think about what would make things easy for her too.

"I understand, sir. But if the intel is to be believed then I would recommend holding off on the additional guards at the moment. It might just bring unwanted attention to Sansa's location, make it easier for him to track her down if he wanted.

"I can coordinate with the local police, have them set up checkpoints around the area and ask for men to do rounds on the streets for anything suspicious." He thinks if he missed anything before adding, "If you'll agree, sir?"

Jon's looking at Sansa as he says all of this, watching how she'll react to what she hears. When her eyes widen at the mention of involving the police, he reached a hand out to her in reassurance, twining their fingers together and tugging her closer him.

He pressed his lips to her temple as her free hand went around his waist, leaning into him for some form of support.

He knows she can do good here if they give her enough time to adjust. All she needs is stability and if they have to disrupt her life everytime something like this happens then she would never feel safe enough to move forward.

Finally, Ned Stark releases a heavy sigh. "Alright, I'll have Jory station guards nearby in case anything comes up but otherwise I think it's a good plan." He paused. "Stannis is setting up a team to go after Ramsay right now, I'll have Jory send you updates regarding the progress being made." Then he lets out a deep breath. "Jon, I trust you to keep my daughter safe."

"I know that, sir," he said, swallowing hard. "I promise I'll keep her safe."

He waits for the click that tells him the call has ended before tilting his head to look at Sansa.

She's staring at him intently, a crease on her brows as her blue eyes searched his for answers. "What was that about involving the police and more guards? Why do we need all that? Is Ramsay coming after me?"

He sighed, unsure how to say everything without worrying her too much.

"There's no way to be sure of his motives but - " he swallowed, aware that the next things he say won't be easy on her. "But your dad think he's hiding out in Riverrun based on an anonymous tip they received. They're sending out a team as soon as possible but we still need to be vigilant so we're asking for a few more eyes on the area."

He can feel her body tense against him, her eyes looking around wildly as though he might as well have told her Ramsay was inside the house.

It spurs him to action immediately, reaching up to touch her cheeks to make her look at only him. "I'm not letting him anywhere near you, okay? Do you trust me?"

She's staring at his eyes, trying to find any hidden lies to what he'd just said before finally nodding reluctantly. "I do."

"Good," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You have nothing to worry about, I swear it."

They stay like that for a moment until he knew it was absolutely time to let go. "I'm just going to talk to the guys, update them about everything and tighten security. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," she said with an unconvincing nod, giving him a faint smile. "Go do your job, Jon, I'll be fine."

He doesn't like the idea of leaving her, especially with her frightened like this, but he doesn't have a choice. In order to make good on his promise to her, he has to do his job.

He updates Tym and Hal, the guys currently on watch, on what's happening and set up a closer perimeter for the house, in case something comes up and he needs urgent back up.

Brienne and Pod are already asleep for their shift in the morning and he doesn't see any reason in waking them right now when he can tell them the new detail tomorrow.

Sansa needs at least two guards with her at all times and Jon needs them well-rested.

After settling the matters of security around the house, he made a call to the Chief of police in Riverrun to ask for the assistance he told Ned Stark he'd get.

He thought it would be a lot to ask for, considering Riverrun is a small town and the department probably doesn't have much men at their disposal, but It didn't take much convincing, actually.

Even years after Ned Stark stepped down from his presidency, his name still means something to people, and nobody hesitates to help a man as good as he has been.

It takes about an hour and a half to settle everything, and by the time he gets back in, Sansa's already gone up.

He makes dinner before he followed, bringing her a plate of food to make sure she eats.

He finds her sitting on her side of the bed when he comes up, a faraway look in her eyes.

He knocked on the door as not to surprise her and she turns to look at him when she heard.

"I brought you food," he tells her, raising the plate on his hand.

He's not sure what he expected her to say, or that he expected her to say anything at all, but he definitely wasn't ready to hear what she does say to him

_"I'm not going back to him alive, Jon."_

There's a moment where he just stood there, uncomprehending, before he hesitantly walked over to her after shutting the door behind him.

He placed the plate of food on the study table before sitting on the spot right in front of her, just looking at her quietly.

He would tell her again that he's not letting Ramsay get close to her, but it seems useless. She won't believe it and his words are just words until he proves it.

He's not sure what else to say to her, though. It's not like can tell her 'no' and refuse to accept what she said, he has no control over stuff like that. The only thing he can do is to make sure she never has to be put in a situation where it becomes an option, but that doesn't really help him now.

Instead of risking telling her the wrong thing, he doesn't tell her anything at all. He merely leaned over her, planting a soft kiss between her brows with a silent promise to himself that he would protect her at all cost.

He tries to get her to eat dinner afterwards, which she agrees to reluctantly but only to eat a small amount, then after, they got ready for bed even though it was still a little early.

Usually she would kill time watching the television while he goes over his files until they're both tired enough to head to bed, but tonight is different.

Tonight, the worry is clear on both of them, but for different reasons. He doesn't know hers, though he might have an idea, but he keeps waiting for Ramsay Bolton to suddenly pop up and try to take her away.

It seems unlikely but it's enough to keep him alert throughout the night.

Sansa doesn't even try to sleep, and he would encourage her to do so if not for the fact that he knows why she's trying hard not to.

"Come here," he tells her finally after an hour of them just staring into the darkness.

He finds her hand in the middle of the bed and he tugs her to him, ending the pretense of giving each other space.

They'd end up in a tangled mess in the morning anyway, so what does it matter that she's in his arms now when he only means to comfort her.

She shifts closer to him immediately, which still surprises him no matter how often it happens.

He can't understand, even with how hard he tries to figure it out, why she's not afraid of him and why she always responds to his touch as though it's the most natural thing for her to do.

 _Shut up, brain_. He tells himself that it's not the right time to dwell on the thought and pushed them away as her head rested on his shoulder with her hand right on his chest.

"I just keep waiting for something to happen," she admitted, her voice low and quiet.

"I know," he tells her on a sigh, turning to press his lips softly against her temple. "Me too."

And somehow with his arms around her protectively and her hand right on top of his beating heart, they fall asleep.

In the morning, he finds an update from Jory waiting to be read. The messages are short and direct, just vague updates on the movement of the task force tasked to infiltrate Ramsay's supposed hideout.

The last update is just a couple hours ago, letting Jon know that the operation has commenced and they won't be privy to any more details until after it's finished.

He tells Sansa about it, and after learning that they won't be getting any information until after the mission ends, she seems to have decided to block it out in the meantime.

It's some time in the afternoon while she's in class that he finally receives an update from Jory.

As it turns out, Ramsay wasn't anywhere near the premises. When the team got there, there was absolutely nothing at all to indicate that anyone ever stayed in the warehouse - aside from one thing.

On the third floor of the building they found a pink box in one of the empty rooms that was deliberately left there to be found.

They brought in a team to ensure that it wasn't an explosive device, which is why the operation took longer, before opening it and found a medium sized transparent jar with a single key inside it.

Jory sent a photo to him, and he can see in one of the images, there just on the side of the box, that it's addressed to Sansa Stark.

He's still frowning at his phone when students start piling out of the classroom and he composes himself immediately as he tucked it back into his pocket.

She's among the last to come out, speaking to a girl he didn't see from yesterday, and the sight makes Jon feel hopeful.

He watches her quietly as she said her goodbye to the girl, and he notices the cool facade she works so hard to put on drop when she turns to him.

He swallowed, summoning the sincerest smile he can for her in a bid to make her feel better.

"Good class?" He asked, his lips pulling up at the scowl that comes to her instantly.

"It's math," she says with venom. "I hate _math_."

That makes his smile take full form, remembering how ten-year-old Arya would always say, smug as shit, that _little miss perfect_ doesn't have a perfect grade.

Before he could say anything though, her expression turns serious, looking at him worriedly as she asked, "any updates?"

He sighed before nodding. "I'll tell you when we get home."

In the end, he decided not to tell her the entire truth; he tells her that Ramsay wasn't in the warehouse, that they think he's heading North and that he left a trail they're trying to follow now.

He doesn't specify on what the trail actually is.

It's shitty, he knows, and it makes him feel guilty because he promised he'd be honest with her about everythinng and he's breaking it, but he thinks it's the right call for now.

If he's right that Ramsay meant it for Sansa and was banking on her seeing it because she would know to decipher that cryptic clue, then its main purpose is to frighten her and thereby turn all attention to her as a form of diversion.

Right now, as far as they know, Ramsay is working with very little resources. He's desperate and likely just trying to divert all attention away from him.

If all eyes are on Sansa and using all resources for her protection, as they wait for him to come at her with all his might, then it would probably just buy him more time to find new allies and build a strong force to hide behind.

Jon's not sure what else to do, other than try and find him himself outside of the limitations of a broken system, and end this once and for all, in his terms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robb comes for a visit next chapter. I wonder what he'll notice? Hmm...
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys! :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time Sansa was the sibling he knew how to get along with best. They were the first two; he remembers her, the little princess in her dresses trailing after him everywhere he went. 
> 
> She was his baby sister and he always felt proud whenever he got her to stop crying or when she would hang onto every word he'd say. 
> 
> Now he can barely say a word that'll make things like before and he'd be the last person to know how to comfort her if she did cry.

**Robb**

  
Robb took a deep breath before stepping out of his car, heart beating rapidly as he slung his messenger bag on his shoulder.

He glanced at the house he parked in front of, eyes immediately landing on the man standing out front, watching him.

He's in a suit, sunglasses covering his eyes and an earpiece wire dangling over his shoulder. The guy doesn't look familiar, but Robb wasn't expecting him to be. He knows, from his mother, that Sansa goes through her guards too quickly for him to remember any of them.

When he first heard it, he couldn't believe it. Apparently, she snuck out from her guards, acted out when they were just trying to do their jobs and did things that ultimately made them quit.

It sounded more like something Arya would do, not Sansa, but so much has changed in the last few years that it wasn't even difficult to believe.

Robb made his way to the steps slowly, trying to prepare himself with seeing his sister again. Last he'd seen Sansa, it was only months after they got her back.

The easiest way to explain it is that she's different. But really, it's more than that - it's like she's a new person altogether; a stranger.

He's afraid to see her now, knowing that he'll long for the sister he remembers her to be. He'll be angry too, and guilty, and sad - and all these other emotions he thought would disappear once they found her. Except, recently, all these emotions have heightened and he never knows what to do with it.

"Sir," the guard greets, looking him over discreetly before stepping aside to let him in.

Jon is the one to greet him when he gets inside, and his smile comes instantly at the sight of his oldest and bestest friend.

He hasn't seen Jon Snow in six years, not since he joined the force. They'd kept in contact over the years, of course, but this is different.

"Holy shit," Robb laughed, pulling Jon into a bear hug. "I've missed you, man. How are you?"

"Good." Jon smiled. "How was your drive?"

"Slow," he answered, still shaking his head incredulously at the guy.

He knew his father got Jon into Sansa's security detail, but it never really sunk in until now, seeing him there.

"I can't believe you're really here," he said with another laugh. "How have things been?"

"It's been good," he answered, making Robb roll his eyes. Always a man of few words, Jon Snow.

Then, Robb's expression turns serious, looking around nervously. "And... Sansa?"

Jon raised an eyebrow, catches the expression on his face. He patted Robb's back as a form of comfort. "You'll be fine. She's in the kitchen, come on."

He nodded, following Jon into the direction of what he assumes to be the direction of the kitchen.

The first thing he sees when they get there is Sansa, frowning as she hurriedly tried to transfer contents of a pan onto a plate. He doesn't take too much notice of what it is she's doing though, eyes too focused on his sister.

She looks better than the last time he saw her, he notes privately. The circles under her eyes have lightened, she color of her skin isn't as pale and she's not as thin as when she first came back.

Even through his mother's updates and constant reassurance that she'd doing much better, Robb still couldn't quite believe it. It's difficult now, accepting things as the truth without proof. Sometimes he still has trouble believing that she really is back to them.

 _Back_ , as though she simply left. As though she had any choice in the matter at all. As though she wasn't taken from them against her will.

Robb shook his head slightly, trying not to let himself dwell on it now.

It's never done him any good, all that bitterness and anger. It definitely didn't help him find Sansa. In fact, it only drove a bigger wedge between him and his family.

Stop it, he tells his brain again, bringing his attention back to his little sister.

Robb watched quietly as Jon made his way next to Sansa in amusement, notes how she doesn't flinch away when their shoulders bump in the tiny space as he shut off the stove, and how almost choreographed their movements are, together.

She hands him the spatula, he holds the pan, she holds up the plate for him as he finished transferring the contents onto a plate, all with an easy banter and laughter that Robb barely understood. It's like watching a single mind act in two bodies; compleyely in sync.

It's so strange, watching it, and an even stranger thought to be having it just seconds after seeing them together.

Of course, he's heard about this from Arya. His sister had spent the better part of the summer calling him day or night to talk precisely about this.

It was a shock to them all at home, seeing the ease between their sister and the boy they all loved as a brother growing up.

The shock comes not only from the fact that Jon and Sansa weren't close as kids but also the fact that she responds ao well to him. Out of anyone, parents or siblings, who's done the same exact thing, it's Jon who manages to bring out the Sansa they all remember.

Robb barely believed it when Arya told him but he's witnessing it now; he's seeing the soft smile playing on his sister's lips and the glow in her eyes and it's such a glorious thing to see that it almost makes him cry.

There was a time when those were very easy to come by. He remembers how Sansa would sing around the house in the morning, dancing around the kitchen as she helped set up for breakfast. She would hug them all as they came to the dining room, smiling as though nothing could be wrong in the world.

It almost sounds fake if he hadn't experienced it himself; if he hadn't privately longed for the simpler time that it was.

He wonders, more often than not, if he was wrong to let her keep on like that. He knew how the world was at his age of eighteen then, he knew what she'd find in the world if she looked close enough.

If he'd told her that life isn't a song, and that not everybody is good, would she have lost less of her innocence at the hands of Ramsay Bolton?

Would she have known to defend herself, if she knew what to watch out for?

Suddenly, he remembers the nasty fight he had with his father after Sansa's disappearance. He'd been saying the same exact thing, blaming his father for what happened to Sansa.

Robb was angry. His father was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to be the one person that could; the President of Westeros, powerful and dutiful.

The fact that he was as helpless as the rest of them brought so much frustration on Robb.

"Robb," Jon calls out loudly, bringing his attention back to the moment.

Jon's looking at him expectantly, nodding slightly to Sansa who's also looking at him.

He made a face and cleared his throat. "'m sorry?"

"Sansa was asking if you're fine with takeouts," Jon asked, filling him in on the conversation he'd missed, lost as he was in his thoughts.

"Not that you have much choice," Sansa added with an amused smile, raising the plate up to show him. "It's either takeouts or this."

He glanced at the plate, scrunching his nose at the sight of what he assumes is food, only it's so burnt it barely looks like one.

"It really doesn't look that bad," Jon muttered before Sansa slaps his hand away when he tries to get a piece.

"You seriously have to stop eating burnt food, it's not healthy." She's glaring at him but Jon only laughs, shaking his head.

"Fine, I'll get the menu," he finally relented, giving her a meaningful look before leaving her and Robb alone.

Robb wonders at that look. It's almost like a private conversation between the two of them, and obvious, too, now that they're left alone for a moment.

He figures that's his cue to speak. "I - uh," he began awkwardly, fishing the paper bag from his messenger. "I got you something."

He held it up for her, feeling nervous now that they're left alone.

Once upon a time Sansa was the sibling he knew how to get along with best. They were the first two; he remembers her, the little princess in her dresses trailing after him everywhere he went.

She was his baby sister and he always felt proud whenever he got her to stop crying or when she would hang onto every word he'd say.

Now he can barely say a word that'll make things like before and he'd be the last person to know how to comfort her if she did cry.

"Sour tapes," he tells her when she accepts the bag from him. "I used to buy you those all the time, remember?"

He scratched his head awkwardly, feeling ridiculous all of a sudden.

It was an impulse decision to buy it for her. He'd passed by a candy store on his way here and thought he should get her some, like he used to, but he probably shouldn't have.

The other times any of them tried to remind her of how things were, she lashed out. She'd screamed and cried and told them to stop looking for the little girl she was.

"Sansa's dead," she raged at them then, tears falling rapidly as she backed away from them. "I'm all that's left now."

The memory makes him wince, and he's trying to gauge her reaction now, wishing she doesn't think that's what he's trying to do.

She opens the bag gingerly, looking at its content before giving him a warm smile.

"Thanks," she told him, and she'd hugged him before he could even make sense of it.

It was quick, barely lasted a second. If it didn't take him completely by surprise then he probably would've thought he imagined it.

But it was real, she really did hug him, and it's almost enough make him cry.

The last time he remembers hugging her, she was just fourteen. She had the biggest smile on her face, and with the entire world right in front of her.

_"No boys until you're eighteen," he remembers telling her with a pointed look, catching the dreamy expression on her face._

_She was about to leave for King's Landing with Arya, the two of them excited for different reasons. Sansa, he knows, for her fairytales and prince charmings come to life._

_He remembers her rolling her eyes. "I'm not a child, Robb," said the fourteen-year-old primly. "I can date whenever I want."_

_He choked on air, raising an eyebrow at his little sister in shock. "Excuse me?"_

_That made her grin mischevously at him, jumping to hug him again. "I'm kidding. I'll miss you, big brother."_

_"I'll miss you too." He ruffled her hair, laughing when she pushed him away in annoyance, trying to salvage her intricate hairstyle._

Robb sighed internally. It seems there's a lot of memories coming to him today. Thankfully, before he could mess up the the moment with his bittersweet memories, Jon came back into the kitchen with the delivery menus in hand.

To his surprise, the rest of the night goes much better than he would've dared hope.

When his mother suggested that he come visit Sansa, he'd been reluctant. Of course, he worries about his sister and misses her a lot and genuinely wanted to see her, but he didn't know if a visit from him would be welcome.

But Sansa doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she doesn't seem to hate having him there. It's a huge contrast to how she was months ago when he last saw her.

She preferred to be in her lonesome; she barely spoke to any of them and she spurned any and all opportunities to interact with people.

He's spoken more with her now than he has in the entire year and he can scarcely believe it.

"You can stay if you want," Sansa offered hopefully when she notices him wincing at his watch.

It's almost midnight and he didn't even notice.

He was having such a nice time, catching up with Jon and hearing about Sansa's first week in school that he'd forgotten about the time.

It's a two hour drive back to Barrowton, maybe an hour and a half with a clear road, but some part of him is as reluctant to leave as he was in coming there.

He can't fully wrap his head around any of it yet but he just doesn't want the night to end.

He shook his head. "It's alright, I don't want to intrude. I can find a hotel somewhere and - "

"Don't be an idiot," Jon cut off, giving him a pointed look. "There's plenty of room here."

He knows that, but he doesn't want to overstep. He knows tonight had already been a lot, he can see how much effort Sansa's making in trying. He doesn't want to make it more difficult.

She'd given him enough for trying, and he's grateful, but he figures he should let his sister off the hook.

"Honestly, Robb, it's better if yoy stay," Sansa agreed with a nod. "You can stay in the spare be - "

"My room," Jon cut in immediately, eyes flicking awkwardly to Sansa. "You can stay in my room."

Robb watches the two of them exchange a longer look, again like they're having some sort of private conversation.

He's not surprised by it. Arya has mentioned something of the sort and all throughout the night he'd witnessed it for himself, but it's still a little strange to think on.

Finally, Sansa turned back to him with an awkward smile. "I mean -- exactly that. Jon's room. You can stay there."

He raised an eyebrow, curious. There's something he's missing here but he decides to let it go for now.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He loves her.
> 
> The realization comes to him so surprisingly that he didn't even have time to prepare himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Graphic depiction of violence. (It happens during a dream so if you guys want to slip it, you can. Just skip over the italicized paragraphs. There will be mentions of it throughout the chapter but not as graphic.)

  
**Sansa**

  
Sansa wakes before she could scream, her body wracking with such terror that not a single sound could even tear out of her lungs before she snaps awake.

Though equally as terrifying, her nightmare is a new one tonight; so unlike the terrors she usually has that perfectly mirrors all two years's worth of horrors she had endured.

She dreamt of Winterfell; of her family, happy and safe. She dreamt that she was with them, just as happy as they were before what happened.

_They're gathered at the backyard under the moonlight, like they would be when she was younger. Their parents are sharing a sun lounger, Robb on a corner talking animatedly with Jon as Bran and Rickon interrupted every few seconds, trying to join in the conversation. She and Arya are by the pool, their legs dangling on the edge of the water in one of the rare times that they're not arguing. It's everything she wishes she could have again._

_Everyrhing was peaceful - until it wasn't. Suddenly, Ramsay's men surrounded them. She sees Ramsay's second, Dalton, among them._

_She hears someone screaming, the sound so loud Sansa has to cover her ears._

_When she looks down, just before she shut her eyes, she sees blood on the pool around her feet, spreading too quickly. She glanced to her side where her sister was just next to her and sees Arya's body, unmoving, next to her, with blood dripping from her chest._

_When she turns behind her, she sees her parents, now on the floor, their bodies piled into each other. Their blood makes a trail on the floor and a few feet away there's Robb, looking at her as he gasped for some breath._

_He's lying on the floor, tears on his eyes. "Sansa," he choked out, clasping at his torso where he's been shoot. "Run."_

_But no, she doesn't. Her body's frozen with fear for her to move. Vaguely she thinks she gets dragged away from where she sat, shocked and confused even as he hears her protector's voice._

_"Come on," Jon urge her, his voice urgent as he dragged her into what her family calls the godswood. "Run to the Den. I'll meet you there."_

_Somehow, they got to the godswood without her notice. They're alone now and Jon's pushing her towards the crypts but then --_

_Then Ramsay started walking out from ithere, always two steps ahead of her._

_Jon pulls her back, away from Ramsay, standing in front of her protectively. "I've got you," he whispered to her reassuringly, as if they haven't already met their demise._

_"Jon," she whispered urgently, tugging at the back of his shirt. "You have to run. It's me he wants, You have to save yourself. Leave me."_

_Ramsay is just watching it all with that malicious glint in his eyes. And it's a second before he speaks, "What did I tell you?" His voice is playful, always enjoying the chaos he creates. "The game's not over until I say it is."_

Sansa let out a quiet sob as she came to, putting a hand over her mouth so she doesn't make a sound. If Jon hears her crying, he'd probably burst right into the room to comfort her.

She can't see him right now, not after what she just dreamed: everyone she loves, dead because of her.

Ramsay's voice rings in her ears now; a warning. _The game's not over until I say it is._

He will come for her, that's not a question. How could he not? He doesn't like it when someone plays his game better than him and she outsmarted him. She played his game and won.

Or she thought she did. Until now. Now he's out there again, probably angrier and more determined to break her.

He did it just for his own sick amusement before; he found satisfaction in seeing her resolve break, he loved his power over her, and he'd only take more pleasure in it now. Now that he actually has a reason to break her.

No one outplays Ramsay at his own game without paying for it.

With him still out there somewhere, he's free to play his game all he wants. And this time, he has a bigger playground.

 _That means no one's safe_ , she thought fearfully. _Not her family, not Jon -- not her._

She stood from the bed quickly, feeling her lungs tighten in panic as she tiptoed towards the door. When she opens it though, she finds Jon camping right outside.

He's sitting on the floor, back against a wall. He's got her laptop in front of him, a bag of chips and a mug of - coffee? - on his side, and he looks up at her as soon as she opens the door.

"Hey," he said, worry clear in his voice. He sets the laptop aside, standing up so he's facing her. "I didn't hear you wake up."

 _He_ _didn't_ _hear_ _me screaming as I woke up,_ she amended privately.

It takes a second for her to take it all in; looking between Jon and the spot he just vacated on the floor where he'd been sitting in for who knows how long.

 _Her idiotic, overprotective_ _boy_ , she thought with a frown. _This. This is why he'll die._

He wants to protect her too much; he doesn't even think about himself, he just... he does everything for her first and foremost.

When she looks back at him, she finds his eyes right on her, and her entire body freezes again for a moment, remembering those same pair of dark grey eyes in her dream looking right into her as he fell to the floor; the last to die because he tried to protect her.

That image of his body on the cold, stone floor, his blood making a trail around him, is all she can see as he looked at Jon.

"What are you doing?" She snapped suddenly, her fear and frustration coming unbidden.

"I'm - just - I just wanted to make sure you're okay." He studied her face, a crease on his brow appearing. He's worried. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. This. This is wrong, " she said, nearly shouting. He steps back in surprise, watching her carefully. "This isn't part of your job, Jon. You have to stop this."

"Sansa..." he said sowly, confusion lacing his tone.

She hates it; she hates how he looks at her so softly, so gently. Like one moment she'll break. But it feels so good too; to be treated with such softness she hadn't known for so long.

"You can't protect me, what can't you understand about that?" She asked, repeating the words she'd already told him time and again. "You can't protect me from my dreams and you can't protect me from Ramsay. Stop trying."

"Sansa," he said again, this time a little less softly.

It's a reminder; she understands what he means immediately, just by his tone, and she remembers that her brother is right in the next room and she isn't supposed to know about Ramsay.

She takes a deep breath, backing away to let him in. It's a conversation now and she needs to get him to understand.

He follows hesitantly into the room, shutting the door behind him. For a second, they're just standing there, quiet, until she speaks again.

"You'll die, Jon," she tells him now, voicing out her fears. She's not sure why it took a nightmare to realize this when it's been right there all along.

She sees it now, what she should do.

"If you keep trying to protect me, you'll die." She takes a deep breath, letting her mask up to brace herself from what she's about to say. "You should leave. Go back to the wall."

Maybe it's desperation that kept her from considering it; she needs him, even though she doesn't want to need anyone. She didn't want to see that she's only putting his life in danger by letting him into her life.

"What - I'm not - " he stepped towards her, a confused frown on his face. "Sansa, what are you - where is this even coming from?"

"It's the truth," she tells him, averting her gaze. Everytime she looks at him she sees that image of him, lying dead in front of her. "I've seen this countless of times. Everyone who ever tried to help me died. Ramsay killed them."

"Not this time." He shook his head. "I told you, didn't I? If he tries to hurt you, I'll kill him."

"That's what I'm worried about," the admission comes unbidden. Ramsay can kill her if he wants but he can't touch Jon. "What if you get hurt?"

He shook his head, unaware of her internal fears."That doesn't matter - "

"See, that's the problem. You don't care if you get hurt but I do. You can't die, Jon. Not because of me." And as if her words are worth anything to the gods at all, she adds, "I won't allow it."

It's obvious that he's confused, completely off the loop now.

"I don't..." He shook his head, trailing off in confusion.

Stepping forward, she took his arm, trying to get him to understand. "You're inportant to me," she tells him. "This won't make any sense to you, but -- you gave me hope, Jon. In my darkest time, you kept me alive. And if you die because of me then I will never forgive myself."

"I'm not going to die," he told her again, firm, and he takes her hand, imploring her to believe him. "I don't know what's happening here, I don't know where this is coming from, but I'm not going to di, Sansa."

"You can't promise that," she told him, fear seeping into her voice now. "You almost did die, Jon. You told me. About your brothers, what they did. Who's to say you won't die this time?"

"That's part of my job, San. I'm always at the risk of dying -- but I'm here, aren't I?" He walked over to her, the most heartbreaking expression on his face. He took her hand gently and placed it against his chest, right above his beating heart. "Do you feel that? I'm right here. I'm alive."

The frown on her face softens and she knows -- she knows this is him trying to make her feel better. It's a trick he'd done before, but right after her horrible dream the reassurance is welcome.

_He's alive. I can feel his heart beating against the palm of my hand. It was just a dream._

She lets her hand linger for much longer, as though she needs to feel his heartbeat just to know she's alive too.

"I can't lose you," the truth falls upon her lips with no prompting. "Anyone but you."

There's still confusion on his face, and she knows he can't fully grasp where this is coming from. But to tell him is to relive some of her most darkest times and she's not ready for it.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls her into his embrace, leading her head to nuzzle comfortably on the crook of his neck. His arms are wrapped securely around her and she finds her fingers grasping at the collar of his shirt, almost desperately.

"I'm not leaving you," he whispered into her ear, his face pressed against her temple. "I'm staying right here." She's about to pull away in protest but he doesn't stop talking and she stays in his arms. "I'm not going to get hurt and neither are you. You don't have to believe that I can protect you, just don't -- " he hears his voice crack. "Just don't stop me from trying."

 

 

**Jon**

  
_He loves her._

The realization comes to him so surprisingly that he didn't even have time to prepare himself.

He loves her, that's why it hurts so much to see her like this; to see her so frightened and hopeless. She's convinced herself that she's unsavable; completely resigned to the fact that it's only a matter of time before Ramsay gets to her.

It's obvious in the way she speaks; in the way she tells him to leave and save himself. As though Ramsay already got to her and he'll just be collateral damage if he stayed.

He never doubted that Ramsay Bolton has to pay for all he did to Sansa, but to constantly see her struggle to believe that she's safe? That he will never touch her again? It makes Jon's entire body boil in anger.

He wants to protect her so much, wants to make her see that he will never let anything bad happen to her again. But he doesn't know how if she doesn't let him.

"Want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?" He murmured into her ear, hoping that their prior conversation has ended.

He doesn't know what to even think of it, much less what to say to reassure her. All his attempts feel lacking, like he's saying all the wrong things.

He wonders, not for the first time, just what it is Ramsay Bolton did to her. What kind of sick, twisted things did he do to make her fear him so much that she believes the ink is dry and that her death in his hands is imminent.

More than that, Jon wonders what exactly he can do to make her see that it doesn't have to come to that. That if she just trusted him, he can and will protect her.

 _Words are winds_ , Old Aemon from the Night's Watch used to tell him.

"What do you think about learning how to defend yourself?" He asked her a little later.

If she doesn't think anyone can protect her then maybe he could help her protect herself.

She's lying by the foot of the bed, holding a book levelled to her face as she read. She drops it to her chest as she turned to him with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I could teach you," he pressed on. "It could help if you knew how to defend yourself if you need to."

She seems to be thinking about it. "I might be bad at it."

"So we'll train hard." He shrugged. "Hiding from him doesn't have to be your only defense. If you're sure he'll get to you then maybe you should know how to fight him back."

"I'll think about it," is all she says before going back to her reading.

She doesn't want to go back to sleep so they're just waiting until morning comes. He can always tell when her dreams are too much for her and he's sure that's why she's keeping herself awake now.

He brings his attention back on the laptop where he's been reading all he has on Ramsay Bolton so far. Even with Jory's e-mails from the raid last Monday and all of the research Sam has sent him, there's still barely anything that seems to help in finding the guy.

It's obvious that he's psychopathic and smart. It's not a good combination. The bigger problem, though, is that he's too playful.

It's obvious in the way he works. He leaves all these trails almost as a joke, like he leaves them just so people would run in circles trying to find him.

He takes a glance at Sansa, contemplating on whether to ask her about Ramsay or not. While none of what he's found so far makes any sense to him, she might know something he doesn't.

She was held captive by Ramsay for two years, there's no doubt that she would know something, subconsciously or not. Maybe she picked up a few things overtime; a hushed conversation, a map not hidden quickly enough. Something.

Sansa's sharp; she'd try to gather as much information she could in case it's important. That's what she did, isn't it? That's why Ramsay got sentenced in the first place. She knew enough to nail him to the ground, to make sure each crime she testified to are supported and airtight.

But even if she does know something that could help in finding him there's no guarantee that she'd tell him. Hell, she doesn't even want him to be anywhere near Ramsay.

What was it that she said? _You'll die, Jon_. She said it with so much conviction that she might as well have seen it happen or something.

Aside from all that, Sansa might not even want to recall any of it. He can't fault her for it and nor would he try to grasp it out of her. He's not willing to burden her with what he's trying to do in the off chance that she would help.

"What is it?" She asked suddenly, taking a second more before she glances back at him. "What are you thinking?"

He's been staring at her, he realized belatedly, and of course she's too observant to miss it.  
  
"Nothing." He cleared his throat, turning back to what he's doing. "I was just distracted."

"You're not a good liar you know," she lets him know. "Your face goes blank just before you tell a lie and it gives it away."

"You were considering something," she continued. "You had that expression just before I called you out. Brows creased, eyes looking but your mind is somewhere else. You do that a lot before you tell me something important."

See? She's as sharp as a knife. Maybe sharper, even. Is it wrong that it makes him want to smile? She's too smart for him.

He doesn't immediately respond. He's staring at the laptop now, contemplative.

"I wasn't about to tell you something," he says in denial but it only makes her smirk.

"But you want to," she pressed on. "For days now. Something about Ramsay, I'm guessing? You're not hard to read, Jon. Let me guess..." She seemed to think about it for a moment. "Ramsay did something, didn't he? It's some sort of puzzle, that's his favorite. You're thinking it's some sort of clue and you're trying to figure out a connection and you don't want to ask me because you want to shield me from it. Like I told you not to."

"Actually, I don't think the clue is worth anything," he blurted out, immediately regretting that he even said anything. He wasn't supposed to concern her with this. _Idiot_. "I think it's a distraction."

"Show me."

He made a face. This is exactly why he didn't want to tell her.

"Jon," she repeated, voice firm. "Show me."

He sighed, defeatet. Sometimes he feels like she's too smart for her own good. Reluctantly, he pulled up the e-mail Jory sent him days ago and slid the laptop across the bed to where's she's lying on the edge.

She shifted on her stomach, looking at the screen carefully. There's an unreadable expression on her face but he still catches the terror flash in her eyes before it's hidden again.

"You're right," she says after a moment. "It's just a distraction."

Yet he doesn't quite believe her.

"Sansa."

She turned to look at him, face hard. "It's nothing. Tell them to stop looking at it for clues, there's nothing there. They're wasting their time instead of looking for him."

"Why did he leave it there then? Why does it have your name on it?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, nonchalant. But even with such a perfectly told lie he can sense the insincerity. Maybe it's like this for her when he lies. He just knows.

"It means something to you," he said in realization. "I thought it was a warning for us. That he's coming for you. But it actually is meant for yo, isn't it? What does it mean?"

"Just that. That he's coming for me." She said, stiff. Noticing that he's still looking at her with a frown, she says, "Jon, leave it alone. Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty dark chapter but I promise next chapter is a lot lighter -- and happier. It was originally intended to be part of this chapter but it's too much changing POVs for me to deal with so I decided to slice it into two. 
> 
> Meaning, next chapter is halfway done and will hopefully be up in a day, if not sooner. (Unless I get distracted, in which case, I'm sorry. But I probably won't be. Hahaha.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon?" She asked in a loud voice, waiting for some sort of reaction.
> 
> She turned to his sleeping form, back resting against the headboard with her laptop on his lap. She knew he's been hiding something from her since Tuesday. He has that expression on his face, this conflicted sort of look in his eyes whenever they venture into talks of Ramsay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I didn't make good on my promise but I am posting 2 chapters so I hope that makes up for it. Also, this fic isn't as light as stated before but only bc I had to chop the chapter again. 
> 
> Anyway, ch16 will be up in a few hours, I'm just editing a few stuff. In the meantime, I'll post a snippet at the end notes. :)

**Sansa**

  
Sansa sat up from her spot at the edge of the bed quietly, shutting her book with a heavy sigh.

She's been trying to clear her head for hours since Jon showed her Ramsay's message but she finds that she can't. There's too much to consider now that there's a confirmation of her fears being true and somehow all she wants to do is to try and shut them out.

She knows it's impractical; she needs to prepare, to make sure he doesn't get her again. But at the same time, she wants to hold onto the little normalcy she still has in case Ramsay does get to her.

She meant what she told Jon; Ramsay's not getting her alive. And if her days are numbered then she doesn't want to spend them in fear.

Glancing at her wall clock, she notes that it's some time around four in the morning. She released another sigh as she crawled next to Jon, leaning her back against the headboard in a similar position to his.

"Jon?" She asked in a loud voice, waiting for some sort of reaction.

She turned to his sleeping form, back resting against the headboard with her laptop on his lap. She knew he's been hiding something from her since Tuesday. He has that expression on his face, this conflicted sort of look in his eyes whenever they venture into talks of Ramsay.

She would've called him out on it much earlier but she didn't know how without risking him asking questions she doesn't want to answer. And now he has.

"Ramsay likes to play games," she answers his question now. She knows he won't hear her in his sleep but it's still daunting to speak of the truth out loud. "He does it with everyone - with his allies, with his men and with his enemies. With me, he liked to get creative. I wasn't a human being to him, I was a toy to play with."

She shut her eyes for a second, willing herself to be strong as the memories flooded her mind. "It's never just one game with me. It's game after game after game, that was my life for what felt like an eternity. There's this one he liked to play, it's pretty simple. He just did the worst he could to see how far he can go to make me break.

She laughed sardonically, shaking her head. "It's easy. I only have to make him work for my tears. He likes that I try to hide my emotions and enjoys getting them out of me. He didn't know that I learned the trick, though. I just have to struggle enough, make sure he enjoys the show before letting myself cry." She swallowed. "Not too much," she adds bitterly. "He hates it when people cry too much, it annoys him. And it can't be too little, either, or else he wouldn't stop until I give him enough tears, show him enough suffering."

"There's a lot more games but... it's _The Hunt_ you want to know about," she said it in a quiet voice, her resolve not to cry almost breaking. "The way it works -- he would let me outside the Dreadfort - that's what he called the compound he kept me in - and..." She takes a steadying breath, refusing to let the tears fall. "He would tell me to run and hide and to not let him find me. If I managed to escape, then I win. If not, then... then he wins. And he always wins.

"It's his favorite game. It would always start with a key slipped underneath my door. The first time, I thought it was someone trying to help - " she frowned. "How naive of me, right? Thinking there was any help to be had in hell." She shook her head, pushing the memory away. "But anyway, it was only a part of the game. The key was just the sign that the game has begun.

"I always thought I could outplay him, you know? That I actually had a chance to escape. I knew it was a desperate thought but no matter how many times I played, I thought the same. I would run and hide and do absolutely everything to try and get away but he always finds me in the end. And he punishes me for losing."

"I guess that's why I looked for the Den back in Winterfell, I wanted to win this time. Because it still feels like I'm playing his game. Like I'm still at the Dreadfort and he's still hunting me. And I'm right." Her voice cracked, making her pause. "That's -- that's the message, that's what the key means. The game has begun and he's got a much bigger playground."

That's when she tears finally started to fall. Wasn't this what she did back then too? Each night she would sit on a corner of her prison, Jon's picture in hand, the paper yellowing and torn at the sides, and she would talk to him as though he could hear her.

She would tell him anything and everything; of memories from Winterfell, of her family, of what horrors she went through that day. It didn't matter what it was she talked about, she just did it night and again.

"Jon?" She called again a few moments later, feeling her chest lighten at her revelation. She shook him gently. "Jon, wake up."

He blinks awake slowly, turning to her in confusion. "Did I fall asleep?"

The expression on his face, a mixture of sleep and confusion, is somehow enough to nake her feel better.

"You did," she whispered quietly, taking her laptop from him and setting it aside. "Come lie down."

He's tired enough that he lets her ease him down the bed with her, and his arm instantly come around her thoughtlessly, his body snug against hers.

By now this is a usual occurence, and it makes her feel safe and secure.

"Go to sleep, love," he mumbled against her ear sleepily, brushing a kiss to her temple. "I'm right here."

She swallowed, mind reeling at his words. It sounded so sweet, what he called her, and it takes some effort to tell herself that, no, he doesn't mean it like that. He must be thinking of someone else.

She shifted, nuzzling closer to him. Somehow the thought only makes her feel worse; this thought that there could be someone else he'd be thinking of, someone he loves.

She bit her lip, frowning in thought. _What does that even matter? He's not yours_.

 _Stop_. She placed a hand to her tummy, trying to talk it out of this weird fluttery feeling happening in there. _Stop it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH16 PREVIEW:
> 
> "Speaking of," he blurted out in the most ungraceful way of changing topics possible. "Not -- well not really. I mean, speaking of Sansa and her well-being... um, what's going on between you and her?"
> 
> Jon turned to him in surprise, eyes wide and confused. "What?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I saw you come out of her room," he admitted, not exactly calling out bullshit, just pointing out facts. "Earlier today. I was looking for you and couldn't find you anywhere. And I'm not -- I'm not gonna go crazy big brother on you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm glad she trusts you like that, I know it must be tough for her. And like I said, you guys are old enough to know what you want... I just want to make sure it's clear between you two, whatever's happening."
> 
> "Oh gods," Jon groaned, more than a little red now. "Please shut up. Nothing is happening. You've got it wrong."
> 
> Robb raised an eyebrow, voice still low to keep their conversation private. "Am I? So you're not into my sister?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this. ;)

**Robb**

  
Robb accepted his lack of bowling skills good-naturedly, despite claiming to be a pro just hours previous, and bowed in front of Sansa's friends for his gutter ball as they laughed.

He should've been on his way back to Barrowton by now, as planned, but come this morning and he didn't want to leave.

There's been so much that he'd missed in Sansa's life, both good and bad, and he wants to make up for it now. Especially now that it's an option.

And as much as he's glad to see the smile on her face, it's still painful to be reminded that there's a lot of things stolen from her so long ago.

Months ago, he never would've imagined that he'd see his sister laughing again; laughing with him and her friends and just playing around like she's supposed to.  
But he's just glad he can witness her taking control back in her life now.

He walked back to his spot next to Jon once the laughter has ceased and one of Sansa's new friends take his tuen to bowl.

Jon's standing just behind the couch where Sansa and her friends say, positioned in a way that he's blocking the path of anyone who'd approach, looking around every so often to ensure that no one even tries.

Robb let out a sigh of relief; when he leaves tonight, he'd be leaving assured that his sister's in good hands. Like all those times Jon would stand up for his siblings when he's not there, Robb knows he'd do the same now.

There's more comfort in that than if anyone else was guarding Sansa, Robb will admit. Jon's not just anyone; he's family. He'd grown up right alongside him, has known the rest of his siblings all his life - this isn't just a job for him.

Sure, he's a war hero; decorated, respected, even rumored to be getting groomed to replace Commander Mormont in the Night's Watch's leadership. All of those facts has been taken into account before they hired him to protect Sansa.

But more than any of that, he's Jon. And that's all the reason for them to trust him. Still, he has to ask: "She's doing okay, isn't she?" Voice revealing his quiet fears.

Robb thought the worry and fear would leave once they got Sansa back. After all, she's home and she's safe. But seeing her so different reminded him - reminded all of them - that she was taken from them, and she'd suffered because of it.

Now the worry is constant; fretting about her well-being and her safety. It's a feeling his entire family share and he just has to know, to be sure, that she really is doing okay.

Jon patted him on the shoulder, fully aware of his concerns. "More than," he assured. "Your sister's a strong girl. You've always know that."

Robb nodded, feeling himself smile as he glanced at his little sister again. Though often considered to be the complete opposite of Arya, Robb's not so sure. Sansa's always been fierce in her own way, an he's glad to be reminded of that.

"Good," he finally said, turning to Jon. "But keep her safe, yeah?"

"Of course I will," Jon promised, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "I won't let anyone hurt her, don't worry."

The look on his face reminds Robb of something else he wanted to talk to Jon about, something he didn't notice immediately at first, but realized as he saw the signs.

They weren't very subtle signs; Sansa's stuff in Jon's room, the feminine products in his bathroom, the fact that Robb couldn't find Jon anywhere this morning even though he knew he was supposed to be sleeping on the couch.

It all explained everything about yesterday. He knew there was something odd about the way they interacted, sort of this subconscious mirroring of each other. It's something he saw with his parents all the time, something he himself has with Jeyne; they're in sync, like two puzzle pieces that fit oerfectly together.

"Speaking of," Robb blurted out in the most ungraceful way of changing topics possible. He clears his throat before lowering his voice so that no one else but Jon would hear. "Not -- well not really. I mean, speaking of Sansa and her well-being... um, you and her? What's up with that?"

Jon turned to him in surprise, eyes wide in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not trying to pry -- " Robb cleared up immediately, feeling awkward to be even talking about this. "I was - I mean... I just didn't realize it was like that with you guys. You know... romantic."

"Robb, what - "

"Look, I'm not against it. You're both old enough to decide for yourselves. It's fine, I don't have any-- " Robb blew out a big breath, unsure how to proceed. "I guess it kind of make sense. You and her. And, really, you two seem happy so it makes me happy, too. "

It sounds like he's just trying to convince himself and failing at it, but he really means everything he said, no matter how awkward the delivery was.

"Is it serious? Or just casual? You guys have discussed it beforehand, right? Cleared things up?" He still has to ask, just to make sure they both know what they're doing.

No matter what, he's still Sansa's older brother, and it's his duty to look out for her.

"Robb, it's not - "

"It's none of my business. Right, right," Robb cut him off again, shaking his head in self-admonition. "Still, just be sure it's clear between the two of you? Just so it doesn't complicate anything or..."

"Seven hells, man." Jon laughed, awkward, before he punched him lightly on the arm. "Let me speak, yeah?" His voice goes lower. "Your approval is appreciated but unecessary. Sansa and I are not -- we're not... there's nothing going on."

Robb frowned, confused. "What do you mean? Was it a one time thing?"

"No, Robb -- it's a no-time thing," Jon's entire face is red now, and he's glancing at Sansa as though he's hoping she doesn't hear any of this. "I don't know what gave you that idea but Sansa and I are just friends."

"I saw you come out of her room," he admitted, not exactly calling out bullshit, just pointing out facts. "Earlier today. I was looking for you and couldn't find you anywhere. And I'm not -- I'm not gonna go crazy big brother on you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm glad she trusts you like that, I know it must be tough for her. And like I said, you guys are old enough to know what you want... I just want to make sure it's clear between you two, whatever's happening."

"Oh gods," Jon groaned, more than a little red now. "Please shut up. Nothing is happening. You've got it wrong."

Robb raised an eyebrow, voice still low to keep their conversation private. "Am I? So you're not into my sister?"

Like Robb has mentioned, he's known Jon all his life, which means he knows the guy better than anybody. And he knows exactly how to decipher that look he has on his face whenever his eyes land on Sansa.

Robb's never seen him look at anyone like that before, this gentle expression that screams love, and it's so easy to read.

"Nothing's happening between us," Jon repeats, and it's enough of an answer for Robb. He didn't deny it. Probably can't.

He smirked, throwing a punch on Jon's arm. "Okay, fine, I'll leave it alone for now. But just -- well, whatever it is that's not happening between you two, just remember - " he looked at Jon sternly. "If you hurt my sister, I'm kicking your ass to hell."

Jon shook his head. "I will never hurt Sansa, I can promise you that."

"Good," Robb said, satisfied with his answer. "Because I'm not sure I could take you. You're professionally trained so I might have to hire someone else do the kicking of the ass."

Jon snorted, rolling his eyes. "You're an idiot, Stark."

"Takes one to know one, Snow."

 

  
**Sansa**

  
Sansa grinned cheerfully as the bartender made his way back to them carrying a pink concoction that Jon ordered for her.

She'd never gone drinking before, obviously. Her teenage years are marred with a lot of horrible experiences, and drinking alcohol to the point of regret probably won't even make the list. Still, she wants the experience all the same.

Jon thinks this is a bad idea, especially on a school night, but the night had been good so far, and she wants to get as much experience in as she can.

The confirmation that Ramsay is coming for her had opened her eyes in a way; she's never lived before. It was always just existing, if not constantly suffering, and shouldn't she try to understand, even with her limitations, why it should be worth it to fight back?

She took a sip of her drink, savouring the sweet taste of it as a sharp sting of the alcohol made a line down her throat.

"It's awesome," she said cheerfully before offering it to Jon next to her. "Want to taste?"

He smiled fondly at her, shaking his head. "I'm not allowed," he reminded her. "I'm on duty, remember?"

"Right," she said, just a tiny bit disappointed that he's not allowed to loosen up. "Which means you'll carry me home if I pass out drunk?"

"I'll carry you home anytime you want," he offered, earnest, and she's glad the lights are low enough that he might not see the blush creeping up.

There's still the fluttering in her stomach too, it just won't go away. She looked around to try and distract herself from the feeling, and spots some of her friends on the dance floor.

They've only just gotten to the club, the seven of them immediately dispersing to do their own things. Lewys and Roslyn are at the table, the ones least interested in mingling, Wylla and Jonella are dancing around, and Alyn is around somewhere, flirting with a classmate he saw or something.

Robb's left about an hour ago, just before they left the bowling alley. No matter how fun it's been to have her brother around, she knew it had to end at some point.

He has his own life back in Barrowton now, and a fiance waiting for him, and Sansa doesn't want to take more of his time. She is grateful, though, that she got to spend so much time with him this weekend. In a way, it reminded her so much of how it was back when she was younger; when it was only just her, Robb and Jon.

She smiled, thinking of how easily they'd relent to a four-year-old Sansa pleading to play princess with them as her knights.  
  
She turns to Jon now, smiling mischevously. "What's your opinion on dancing?"

She knows that he was bad at it. Even the patient eleven-year-old her couldn't get him to memorize something as simple as a waltz, but he looks at her thoughtfully now, as if actually considering it.

"You want to?" He asked.

Biting her lips, she nodded. She won't go if he doesn't, obviously, too afraid to enter the thick of the dancing on her own.

Jon smiled. "Okay, then," he said, standing straight and holding a hand out to her formally. "Shall we?"

He's acting as though he's asking her at a ball, just like she taught him, and it makes her smile as she took her hand and slipped out of the bar stool.

"We shall," she agreed and let him lead her to the dance floor.

It's overwhelming at first, with so many people moving around her, the music too loud, and the lights flashing in every which way. But Jon leads them somewhere where her friends are dancing nearby, and positions himself protectively around her that all she can focus on is how close he is to her, and how she doesn't want him to ever leave.

The night goes on like that; dancing and drinking and the occasional chat with her friends when they head back to the table for a break.

She doesn't remember going home, but that's where she is when she wakes up in the morning, all with an aching head.

She groaned, shifting on the bed to Jon's side with the intention of burying herself against him. It's starting to become a habit, seeking him out for comfort, and she's disappointed to find his side cold.

She huffed and sat up. She could never fall back into sleep when she knows he's not there, and it's only a little frightening, just how much depend she's become.

She freshened up in the bathroom, smiling even through her headache. Last night went great; it's the first memory she has of feeling normal. Like she's just like the everybody else.

She headed down soon after, finding Jon already seated at the table. He's flipping through his phone as he sipped his coffee, more put together than her this early in the morning.

He looked up when he saw her, smirking at what she assumes is a pitiful sight. "Still think it was the best night ever?" He asked with a teasing tone.

She vaguely remembered screaming that at some point in the night, and she still means it. "I do," she agreed before turning her attention to the food set up between them. "Are we hungry?"

There's a ton of food in front of them, all greasy and possibly bad for her.

"It's hangover cure," Jon explained. "To soak up the alcohol. Or just to indulge if that doesn't actually work."

They eat quietly, mostly because her head is still killing her despite how many glasses of water Jon insists on making her drink, and it isn't until after eating that she remembers some more of last night.

_"Have you done this before?" She asked him over the music. He's moving as though he onows exactly what he's doing and though it's a welcome sight, she can't help but be curious._

_"A few times," he shouted back, moving completely in time with the beat._

_She regrets not being more specific, her brain coming up with more questions that she won't let herself ask._

_She won't let herself think of why it bothers her, of why the thought of Jon doing this with someone else, makes her chest burn in frustration. Still, she does put in more effort into dancing, stepping much closer to him as to distract herself from her thoughts._

_The memories of the night flashes in quick succession, until she remembers the guy._

_Some college kid who tried to make a move on her while they were getting more drinks at the bar. He was grinning suggestively at Sansa, completely unaware of Jon, as he asked to buy her a drink._

_"She's good," Jon cut in, handing her a glass of cocktail before putting his arms around her waist and oulling her to his chest pointedly. "You can just fuck off, thanks."_

_"How polite," Sansa laughed once the boy has left. "That was a little too much, don't you think?"_

_He shrugged. "I just wanted to get the point across."_

_"And what was that?" She asked, curious._

_"That you're not interested." He frowned. "You weren't, were you?"_

_She finds herself laughing at the conflicted expression on his face and dragged him back to their table._

_"You didn't answer me," he reminds her when they get home. "About that guy, if you were interested."_

_"I don't even know him," she pointed out, grinning as his frown deepened._

_"Right, but if you're ever... um, interested in someone, tell me."_

_"What if I am?" She asked, curious, as she walked closer to him._

_"Then I'll back off," he said, like he's trying to convince himself than her._

_She's drunk enough that her eyes flicker down to his mouth unabashedly. "Will you?"_

_He nodded, his own eyes travelling down her lips before he's looking back into her eyes, swallowing hard. And then she leaned in to see if he actually will._

_He does, but it takes a moment before he finally pulls away, leaning his forehead against hers._

_"We shouldn't," he breathed out._

_She frowned, probably more drunk than she initially though because his words didn't make sense to her. "We shouldn't?"_

_He shook his head slightly. "No, not like this." He tells her, "if it's really what you want then kiss me again when you're sober."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured we could all use a sweet flashback from Sansa this time around. :D


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT:
> 
> Something went wrong when I updated CH16 so some of you might've missed an important bit in Sansa's pov (at the end). Make sure you check it out before you proceed here. 
> 
> Also, for anyone wondering: Drinking age in this AU is 18, so Jon wasn't just turning a blind eye to underange drinking.
> 
> Thank you. :D
> 
> Thanks!

 

**Sansa**

  
Somehow, three weeks go by without either of them talking about the _kiss_. Sansa pretends that she doesn't remember it ever happening and Jon, whether intentionally or not, follows her lead.

It's just very confusing for her, with all her inhibitions intact, to even broach the topic. It's not like she could just come up to Jon and ask him what he meant, exactly, when he said, "kiss me when you're sober."

It's an invitation, as far as she can tell, but -- _why_? Did he want her to kiss him? Would he have kissed her back if she wasn't drunk off her ass that night?

More importantly, would she have wanted him to?

Her hands fly up to her mouth as though she could still feel his lips against hers, and as usual, thinking about it confuses her to no end.

"Seven hells, stop it," she groaned, pulling a pillow over her head in a bid to get her mind to stop.

She had been, over the past few weeks, obsessing about it, trying to work out why she even kissed him in the first place. And why it makes her feel so warm inside, thinking of that brief moment she shared with Jon.

"Stop what?"

She startled, pulling the pillow away to glance at him by the door. He's looking at her in inquiry, waiting for an answer.

She ignored his question entirely, in favor of one of her own: "your super private phone call over?"

His lips quirked up at how she phrased the question. "It is."

"And you're not allowed to tell me what it is?"

Usually, Jon doesn't mind her listening in on phone conversations, especially when it's from Jory or the rare ones with his father.

Mostly, it's with Arya or Robb, though, catching up and asking after her, and the occasional ones with Bran or Rickon just calling him about a new game they found or some story they want to tell him. Sometimes he'd even put those calls on loudspeaker so she can listen and butt in if she wanted.

This one is different; he immediately left the room upon answering, and all she saw was how confused he looked as he made his way out.

"It was my commander from the Night's watch," he informed her, a crease appearing on his brow.

She frowned, wondering why he'd get a call from his commander when he's technically off duty from the Watch . "Did you do something wrong?"

He looked at her as he sat on the bed next to her, eyebrows curved in curiousity. "That's your immediate thought? That I did something wrong?"

She shrugged, sitting up herself. She can just tell that this is going to be a serious conversation. "I feel like you're the type of guy to not follow orders unless you want to."

As evidenced by this whole bodyguard thing. He's not really doing a good job, objectively. Most bodyguards, from her experience, care more about the job itself more than the person they're guarding, and that's definitely not the same with Jon.

He's probably broken about a hundred different rules for her benefit, and while she does appreciate it, she still knows he could get in trouble for them.

His eyebrows rose. "That's what you think of me?" He asked on an amused laugh. "What, do I look like some sort of bad boy who doesn't care about the rules?"

She snorted. "I wouldn't go that far. More like a disobedient puppy."

The laughter that erupts from him makes her lips quirk up, watching him as he shook his head in mirth.

"A puppy," he said, as though that's meant to be the offensive part.

"A disobedient puppy," she corrects, and pokes him in the side before he could come up with a retort. "You're stalling."

Immediately his smile falters and he sighed. "I'm getting called back for a mission," he said with a thoughtful frown. "Or, well, I'm getting called back into an ongoing mission. The one I was in before I left."

She feels herself frowning as she looked at him. "Why? I thought you were supposed to stay with me until Ramsay's apprehended?"

"Something went wrong with the mission that only I can fix, apparently, and my duty it to the Watch, first and foremost," he says it apologetically, almost as if he regrets it. "I just have to sort it out and be back here as soon as oossible."

She scowled, poking him on the side again, harder this time. "You should've opened with that," she tells him, to his confusion. "I thought you weren't coming back."

"Oh." His expression turns gentle, albeit a little guilty. "Of course I am. I'm not leaving you."

He is, though. She knows that. She's known, right from the start, that this has an expiration date, which makes this thing - _these unexplainable emotions_ \- a lot frightening to deal with.

Is she supposed to let herself... feel, if he's just going to leave anyway?

"You are leaving me, though," she says out loud now. "Just for a few days."

He puts his arms around her in comfort, pulling her to his lap. By now, the casual touching is familiar; they often do it without thought.

It's surprising, just how familiar it already is with just two months with him. After years of fearing contact, of being afraid whenever someone gets too close, she realizes she's starved of it.

She finds that it's become some sort of primal need, this urge to get close to him; to feel his arms around her, to feel his hands gently caress her cheek and his fingers to tangle with hers, to feel his lips against her skin. To feel every form of touch that doesn't bring her harm.

"I'll be gone for four days, at most. I'll be here before you know," he assured, and she doubts it.

She doubts she'll manage to forget, even for a single second, that he's not there.

"When do you leave?"

"Tonight," he said, sheepish. "It's urgent and they just gave me a few hours to settle things here before I go."

"Which means..?"

"Which means, Brienne's adopting my position while I'm gone and two new guards are on the way."

She groaned. "I hate getting new guards."

"Try not to get them fired before I get back, yeah?" He asked, teasing, as he brushed her hair back fondly.

She pulls away a little to look at him in warning. "I give you four days before I start trying."

He snorted, pressing a kiss to her brow. "It's all I ask."

"Or maybe I just won't let you leave," she suggested, wrapping her legs and arms around him playfully.

He grinned putting his arms around her in equal measure. "Maybe I don't want to leave. Maybe I want to stay right here."

 

**Jon**

  
The truth is constantly at the tip of Jon's tongue, always just a second away from spilling out.

' _I'm in love with you_ ,' his heart always seems to scream. ' _Tell her now,_ ' his mind demands. He'd follow through, if he knew he could.

"Maybe I want you to stay right here, too," Sansa whispers, voice low enough that he almost doesn't make out the words.

He swallowed, eyes dropping to her lips like it did that night. The night they kissed.

He hasn't been able to get it out of his mind since it happened and it's been a constant battle with himself to not kiss her since.

He tries to tell himself that it doesn't mean anything; she was drunk and was probably not thinking clearly. And when she says things like this, and does things like this - with her arms around him and her lips just a breath away - it's a lot harder to restrain himself.

He's not sure she can tell just how much these things affect him, how they make his heart leap from his chest and how his self-control withers away, bit by bit, at each touch.

"Would you let me?" He asked, curious. "I mean, not right now. I was just thinking... you know, maybe I could ask your dad to hire me officially, once all this is over."

She looked at him in confusion, working through what he said for a moment before a frown creases her brows. "You mean, to babysit me permanently?"

He scowled. "To be your bodyguard. Officially."

"No, you can't. I won't let you," she said immediately. "You have a life, Jon. I'm not letting you waste it on me."

 _You are my life now_ , he thinks privately, meaning it more than he thought he could mean anything.

He doesn't voice it out, instead settling on a different argument. "I always wanted to come back home," he told her. "You'd be doing me a favor."

"No, you're just saying that so I won't argue."

He laughed, incredulous. "So you want me to stay but you don't. How does that make sense?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just because I want you to doesn't mean you should."

"Fine, then. If you don't want me working for your dad, I'll just find some other job nearby."

He'd honestly been considering it for weeks now. He loves her and he wants to be able to stay with her somehow. He's been considering what his options are for the past few days.

"You're ridiculous," she said with a shake of her head, but he can tell she's not actually that opposed to the idea.

Sansa's temporary guards are set to arrive in an hour, which is less time than he would've liked to have before leaving, so he ends their conversation there. He actually has to get ready to leave.

He tried to ask Commander Mormont if he could go in the morning instead, but he couldn't exactly voice out his reasons - so he can make sure that Sansa would at least have a good night's sleep before he leaves, so the request was denied.

Not a single atom in his body wants to leave Sansa but he has to, duty requires it of him.

He runs a hand through his hair, thinking how terrible the next few days will be for him. It'll be difficult to be thinking of anything but her and he hopes he'd be able to focus long enough to be able to go back home as soon as possible.

 _Home_. He startles at the word. Winterfell is the last place he remembers ever considering as his home, and that's not what he's thinking now.

Home is... _Sansa_ ; she's home in the way that her body fits perfectly against him, the way her smile reminds him of bright snow days, it's the way she would look at him, like he's right where he's always meant to be.

"So..." He trailed off somberly, glancing at his backpack before his eyes settle back on her.

She's sitting on the edge of the bed, has been for a few minutes now, just quietly watching him check and double check his things, almost as though he's trying to prolong the inevitable.

"So," Sansa repeats, more decisively than him as she stood up and walked closer to him. "Ready to go?"

He taps his bag and nodded, unable to trust himself to speak. He's pretty sure that if he says anything, it'll be the three word he'd been dying to tell her the past weeks.

Sansa Stark deserves to know that she's loved, that's his take on it.

After so long of being around people that no doubt treated her harshly, she deserves to know that he loves her. But he can't now, not when he's about to leave.

When he tells her, she's going to have questions and doubts. He knows her enough by now to know that's how his admission will go down. And when he does tell her, it's going to take a lot of convincing, a truth she'll need to orocess and take time believing, so he'll do it when he can prove it.

She's standing right in front of him now, this thoughful expression on her face. His eyes flicker down to the bob of her throat, brows curving in curiousity as she seemed to make her mind.

She goes up on tiptoes, hands braced on his shoulders, and plants a kiss right on the corner of his mouth. She pulls away quickly, and he almost catches her on the waist to pull her back to him to kiss her on the mouth like he wants to.

But he knows he shouldn't. He'll only ever follow her move, giving her all the control she needs.

If he had better self-control, he would say his goodbye and leave things at that. He doesn't and he won't, and he finds himself leaning over to kiss her back right on the corner of her mouth, just like she did.

Suddenly, his phone pinged as though it intended to break the moment. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess that's my cue to leave."

He grabbed his phone to check the message informing him that his transport car has arrived and replied that he's heading out in a minute.

He looked back at Sansa once he's done and cleared his throat. "If you need anything, no matter what time it is or why, call me. Okay?"

"Okay," she says, but he doubts she actually will.

She never likes to ask for help, constantly choosing to repress her emotions even when he's more than willing to provide whatever it is she needs.

"I mean it, Sansa," he said with a pout. "Or I'll be worrying my head off the entire time."

Her lips pull up at the expression on his face and she sees the decision cross her face before she's tugging on the collar of his shirt to pull him towards her.

The press of her mouth against his is a surprise, but not enough that he'd pull away. They're still for a moment, almost as though they're both trying to gauge each other's reaction, and when she's sure he won't pull away, her lips start to move against him.

It's a mess of a kiss; unpracticed and hungry. Teeth clashing and nose bumping into each other. Neither one pulls away though, both equally as desperate for it.

He follows her every move; when she wraps her arms around his neck, he does the same on her hips. When one of her hands come up to the nape of his neck to tangle with his hair, his goes up to her jaw and tugs her closer to him.

It's the way he'd imagined kissing her all those weeks ago, if she wasn't intoxicated and barely standing up, but this is better than he could've imagined.

When they finally pull away, they're both breathing heavily, staring at each other in surprise. She bites her lips on a smile, and he couldn't help but mirror that too.

"You really do't want me to leave, huh?" He asked teasingly, tucking a strand of her hair at the back of her ear.

"Or maybe I just wanted to scare you off," she suggested just as teasingly, eyebrows raised.

He shook his head. Not possible. He leaned forward in a bid to send the message, bumping her nose in an eskimo kiss before pressing his lips gently against hers.

"The only thing that scares me now is being away from you," he tells her against her mouth, in as much admission of his love for her as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Emilia_Elaine who commented about the little mermaid song, 'Kiss the Girl', bc that definitely inspired the kiss scene here. :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Jon**

  
Jon was anxious throughout the whole six hour plane ride from White Harbor to the base; the distance between himself and Sansa makes him restless. He'd prefer to be able to reach her at a moment's notice should the need arise, but his current location doesn't allow that, and it feels terrible just how far he is now.

Worse, Jon and a small number of his brothers are set to journey through Hardhome on a raid in a few hours, which not only means he'll be even farther from her but that he'd be off the grid for a long period of time, making him completely unreachable if Sansa needed anything at all.

When he thinks about it, It's almost funny how much he doesn't want to be back North. For as long as he can remember, all he'd wanted was to be part of the Night's Watch, his life goal had been to lead a tactical team that would bring down the White Walkers and end their reign of terror in the far North, and now that the time has come for it, it's the last thing on his mind. In fact, being there only solidifies his decision to end his career with the Night's Watch.

Maybe when he was younger it was everything he needed; an escape of sorts. He'd been lost when his mother died, leaving him feeling empty and alone in this hell of a place. The Academy offered him purpose and he thought he'd found a home, never realizing that he already had one.

Ghost nuzzles into his legs, breaking his thoughts as though he could sense Jon's broody mood and wanted none of it. He chuckled, petting him behind the ear the way he likes as he spotted one of his friends across the field.

"Hey, Grenn," Jon called, waving him over. "You know where I can find Sam?"

"He's probably at Old Aemon's lab. He took over since the man retired. Even Gilly can't get him out of there." Grenn grinned, patting him on the shoulder when he gets close. "I didn't know you were back. Last I heard you took a vacation - that's a thing?"

"Yeah." Jon chuckled, rubbing his neck awkwardly. Technically, he isn't, but disclosing that information would go against his current mission. "Just got called back in to see my last mission through, actually."

Grenn nodded. "Yeah, I heard about that. Finally taking down the White Walkers, huh?"

Jon nodded. "Yeah, apparently." He handed his phone over to his friend, changing the topic. "Take a picture of me and Ghost, will you?"

Grenn takes his phone without question and snaps a few shots of him kneeling next to Ghost in a similar pose to his framed picture back home.

He's caught Sansa looking at that picture on multiple occasions. For what reason, he's not sure, but he assumes it's because of Ghost and he wants to send her un updated image so she knows he's not that small anymore. Strictly speaking, Jon didn't need to be in the picture for that, but... well, she might like to see him too.

The thought makes him bite his lips on a smile as Grenn handed him back his phone; The idea of Sansa missing him - fuck, the idea of Sansa thinking about him at all - sends a warmth through him.

"What the hell is that?" Grenn asked, frowning at him. "Are you smiling? Well, I'll be damned. Jon Snow, are you - " he narrowed his eyes at him before grinning teasingly. "Did you meet a girl on this vacation?"

"That's none of your business," he snapped, defensive, and flicks Grenn on the nose when he tried to grab Jon's phone to snoop.

Grenn only laughed, simply batting Jon's hand away from his face as he continued to tease him. "I never thought I'd see the day you fall in love." His words bring Sansa to mind which gets an involuntary smile on Jon's face that his friend immediately spots. "Look at that smile. Seven hells, you're a goner."

Jon tries to scoff, fails to be convincing, and punched Grenn on the arm defensively. "Nosy little shit," he muttered as he fled the conversation, making Grenn laugh even more and loudly as he walked off to find Sam.

He does find Sam at Old Aemon's lab, eyes glued to one of the computers that he doesn't even hear Jon's approach. It's Ghost who finally gets his attention when he jumped on him.

Sam gasped. "Down, boy. How did you even -- " he turned to the door, confused, before catching sight of Jon and grinning wide. "Hey. When did you get back?"

Jon smiled back and met Sam in a hug as he approached. Though they spoke a lot over the phone, he still missed his friend a lot.

They don't immediately dive into the topic Jon came there for, choosing to catch up on each other first. Mostly, Jon lets him talk; he'd missed a lot in his friend's life and has plenty of stories to hear about little Sam and Gilly. And honestly, he can't help but smile as he listened to each story.

He temembers that the Sam he met years ago had called himself a coward; a reject. No place in this world. It's a vast difference from who Sam has become now. A man who know knows exactly where he belongs, perfectly contented of the life he's built for himself, and Jon couldn't be more proud.

"So..." he said once their conversation has ceased, looking at Jon expectantly. "You promised me an explanation."

Jon blew out a breath. "I did."

For all the help Sam's given him, giving him an explanation is the least he could do.

Sam already knows about Ramsay Bolton; the whole of Westeros had heard of the man. Not just for being one of the most notorious crime lords the North has faced but for what he did to Sansa, especially. He also knows about Jon's close relationship with the Starks so he begins from the moment Commander Mormont had pulled him from his mission with the Freefolk, as a favor to Ned Stark, and assigned him as Sansa's protector.

It's a long story but Jon sums it up quickly, sharing just enough to catch Sam up with everything while not betraying information he knows Sansa wouldn't like anybody else to know.

"What will you do when you find him?" Sam asked when he finally finished.

Jon made a face. That, he's not sure how to answer. Just the thought of the man makes something nasty inside of Jon want to burst. It's a sensation he's never felt before; something beyond anger and grief. It's unexplainable, and at times, he fears it might even consume him.

"I don't know," he admitted, unable to meet his friend's eyes. "I just know that I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't come near Sansa ever again."

Sam nodded in understanding before he shifts theconversation. "Remember that account I couldn't trace?"

"Yeah?" Jon asked hopefully, looking at Sam as he turned to his computer, hands flying all over the keyboard.

"So the account is under the Iron Bank, basically near impossible to penetrate," Sam began to explain as he typed, his attention only half on Jon. "They would've sensed my hack from a mile away so I didn't try but I didn't want to give up on it, either. See, since it's essentially an online account, there was a way I could track whoever has access to the money through their IP address without hacking into the IB's framework but I needed them to be online and connected to the bank's log to trace them.

"I couldn't find out if it was still active since it's an old trail so I wasn't hopeful but I set up an alert, just in case someone accessed it, and guess what?" Sam turned to him, smiling in satisfaction. "Someone did. I got you a name."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeew. This chapter really gave me such a hard time while writing and it might've come across. But anyway, with it out of the way, hopefully I'll br able to write much now.
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who stuck around for this fic. I appreciate all of you! :D
> 
> PS - as this was pretty short, next chapter will be up within a day(...hopefully). :D


	19. Chapter 19

 

**Sansa**

 

Sansa rubbed her eyes tiredly as she flipped through the pages of a book for her research; she's been at the library for hours now, Wylla Manderly sitting across from her as they prepared for the debate for their public speaking class next week.

Sansa doesn't generally like leaving her assignments to last minute, so it's not weird that she's doing the work immediately right after class, but truthfully, she's mostly just trying to distract herself.

Jon has been gone for four days now, and while he assured that his trip wouldn't take longer than that, he still isn't back. At this point, she'd welcome any form of distraction so she's not so worried about him

"Are you alright?" Across from her, Wylla frowned, studying her face carefully. She nodded, attempting a smile that probably comes more as a grimace.

"I'm just tired."

"You've been off all week," Wylla noted, concerned, as she glanced at Brienne who stands stiffly behind Sansa, just a few feet away. "I haven't seen Jon in a while... did you guys fight or something?"

Sansa shook her head immediately. "No, we're fine. He's just out of town."

Wylla nodded in acceptance, but the concern is still evident when she asked, "You sure you're okay, though? Nothing happened?"

"I'm really okay," she assured, realizing that Wylla probably finds it alarming that she 'suddenly' has a guard following her around so closely like Brienne has been doing all week.

"So I'm just going to have to assume that you miss Jon so bad that ended up looking terrible?" Wylla asked, looking at her teasingly. "That's the story?"

Sansa snorted involuntarily. She probably looks worse than terrible; she's been going on just a few hours of sleep for days, finding it difficult to face her nightmares on her own and it doesn't help that her brain is conjuring up so many horrible images of Jon's demise.

"Sure, go with that," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes in amusement. Then, with a glance to Brienne who's staring off into the distance as though she doesn't hear the conversation word for word, Sansa admits, "But yeah, I really wish Jon were here."

She looked down at the revalation, trying to clear her expression of the frown that's fighting to appear. She hasn't heard from him in two days; not since he told her that he won't be able to call her in a day or so while he's on a mission.

He's only been sneaking phone conversations with her, considering he's not actually allowed to be in contact with anyone, so it didn't surprise her. But then, two days of him not reaching out is another conversation entirely.

She can't help worrying that something bad might've happened to him, and the lack of news from him doesn't help ease her fears.

Gods, if only constantly thinking about him and worrying for his sake could make him appear right before her, he never would've been able to leave. But that's not a thing; in real life fairytales don't happen, wishes don't come true and the heroes die.

Her fears simmer down only when he finally reaches out to her with an assurance that he's safe; it's four in the morning when he texts her, she'd already given up on sleep hours previous and is tucked in bed wearing only his shirt for comfort as she read a book.

She immediately grabbed her phone as soon as she felt it vibrate underneath the pillow; she's been like this for days, jumping to check her phone everytime it rings in the hopes that it's Jon.

She'd think it's pathetic if she cared enough to analyze her reaction to him being away in the last few days but she doesn't, so she settles on calling him as soon as she's finished reading his message.

"Hey, love," he answered on the first beat, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "I didn't wake you, did I? I was hoping not to disturb uou."

The relief that comes to her at the sound of his voice is instantaneous, and she breathes a sigh of relief as she pressed the phone closer to her ear.

"Jon."

Her voice is strange, almost like she doesn't believe it's really him and -- What did he call her?

 _Love_. He'd used that same endearment before, when she thought he was too tired to realize what he was saying. But the sound of it now is welcome; to hear it again sends a fluttering deep in her stomach, but she doesn't let it linger.

"I've been so worried about you," she said, stern, as her brows arched into a frown. "What the hell, Jon? Are you alright? Did something bad happen?"

"Nothing bad happened, Sansa. I told you I'd be off-the-grid for a day, didn't I? I'm alright, I swear it." His voice is soft, and she thinks he's smiling as he spoke. "I'm back at the base now. I'll be home as soon as I finish the paperworks and the meeting with my Commander in a few hours, nothing to worry about."

She shook her head as if he could see it, but makes no further reply; he really needs to stop underestimating her capacity to worry about his well-being.

Although it's difficult for her to admit it, she can't deny that Jon's the most important person in her life, either.

It's odd, feeling that way about someone, but it's the truth. He's done so much for her - In her time at the Dreadfort up to now. Whether he knows it or not, he'd crept his way into her soul, made his mark there in a way she can't erase even if she wanted to. And she doesn't want to.

It's a weakness, she knows it is, but even so, the though of Jon and his arms around her, the though of his lips against her mouth and the soft sound of his voice, all of it serves to ease her fears.

She's strong and she can take on anything; this is how he makes her feel.

Their call lasts for a couple of hours, at some point switching to video so he could tour her around his base. If she's honest, she doesn't really remember a lot of the places he showed her, too busy drinking him in as he spoke animatedly and shared fond memories with her.

The rest of the day goes pretty slow after that; It's a friday, so her class isn't until the afternoon, but with all her assignments finished as she distraced herself the past few days as she awaited Jon's return, she doesn't have much else to do to kill time now.

She watched television for a time, read a novel, went through her assignments to double check it, cleaned around the house - she does absolutely everything to make time go faster so she's much closer to Jon again, but it doesn't work. In fact, it only makes it so obvious how long she still has to wait before he's home.

"You're Sansa Stark, right?" Sansa looked up from her phone, catching the curious expression on the man's face as he stood before her.

It's hours later, she's in her writing class and her professor just assigned them a research paper to be done in pairs.

"I am."

He nodded. "Cool. I'm Olyvar. I guess we're partners, then," he said as he sat comfortably on the empty seat next to her.

It's always difficult when the professors assign group projects, and it's never easy in the few times that she'd experienced, but she supposes that working with a single person should be easier than with a group.

Still, something about Olyvar's demeanor makes her very uncomfortable. He seems too practiced when he speaks; poised in a way that makes her feel like she'd met him before. His minty perfume also makes Sansa feel a little nauseous, as though the scent should be familiar and the fact that she can't place it makes her head ache and her stomach turn.

It must not be a pleasant memory, and she all but runs out of the lecture hall as soon as their class is dismissed.

The sight of Jon, standing guard right in front of the door, is exactly what she needed, her chest tight as she seels bile rise up her throat, and she would've thought she was imagining him if not for the crease of worry in his brows.

She jumps into his arms without further thought and buries her face into the crook of his neck as she feels her stomach settle.

"Don't ever leave me again," she mutters into his skin, tugging him closer in the hopes of never having to let him go.

"I won't," he says easily against her ear, voice a gentle caress. "I promise."

She released him a few moments later, belatedly realizing that they're in a public space. Students are still piling out of the room, some talking amongst themselves and some, she vaguely notices, are watching them in interest.

She ignores all of it though, too busy looking at his person. Her eyes travel from his head to toe, almost disbelieving that he really is okay.

She doesn't have to voice out her concerns, though, he just gives her a slight smile before assuring her.

"I'm really okay, Sansa. I'm in one piece, see?" He raised his arms for emphasis, giving her a second to look in confirmation before he steps closer again and put his hands to her cheeks. "But you look really tired - " his brows arch into a frown as he says this. "You want to go home and rest or do you still have stuff to do?"

"Home," she says without thought, and she pulls him in for another embrace, feeling as though everything's back into its proper place.

 

  
**Jon**

  
Jon glanced at Sansa's sleeping form on the bed, mind reeling as he tried to make sense of everything he's read from Sam so far.

Four days ago, his friend found a new lead in finding Ramsay and at first, Jon didn't really understand why the name Petyr Baelish should mean anything to him.

Sam has only followed the money trail to the man hours before Jon came to the lab so there wasn't a lot to go on yet aside from the brief background they did after that came out squeaky clean, but now, reading Sam's e-mail, Jon could feel something horrible settle in his stomach.

At first they thought it might be unrelated; according to their brief research, Petyr Baelish is just a club owner in King's Landing so they figured he must be just another corrupt man connected to Ramsay who's smart enough not to be caught, but then --

Jon glanced at the laptop screen again where pictures of Ned Stark's inauguration dinner is pulled up from the e-mail Sam sent him.

He didn't understand immediately why Sam sent them, and why he should pay attention to it, but when he studied the pictures hard enough, he can spot Petyr Baelish in many of them, all smiling and chatting with different people in the background.

In one particular photo, he's not speaking to the many politicians in attendance that night that he was with in other pictures. Instead, he's seated on one of the tables, chatting to a young Sansa Stark.

And there it is -- there's the connection they've all been missing between Sansa and Ramsay Bolton.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy that this chapter has been sitting unedited on my drafts for a week now and I didn't even change much, so, sorry for the wait.
> 
> Anyhow, hope you enjoy it! :D

**Jon**

  
It's been days since Jon's return from the Night's Watch but somehow the sight of Sansa clad in only his shirt and a tiny pair of shorts underneath still manages to send a shock to his entire being just as strong as it did the first time he saw it.

There's something warm and fuzzy about her in his clothes that he can't explain, and it's all he can think of as she walked up to him with Ghost padding right behind her.

"Good morning," she greeted with a kiss to his jaw before propping herself against him in a sleepy manner.

Ghost, for his part, butts his head against Jon's legs, and then Sansa's, before settling down on the spot right beside them.

It took approximately 0.01 millisecond upon his and Sansa's first introduction for his dog's allegiance to switch to her, and Jon's not even surprised. In fact, the sight of the pair of them together these past few days has bren nothing short of adorable and he can't get enough of it.

"Good morning," he echoed back as he secured her in his arms, revelling in every bit of affection she's willing to share.

"What's that?" She asked, frowning at what he's been reading on his phone just before she came in.

"The itinerary for your dad's birthday celebration next weekend," he explained, even as she skimmed through it herself. "Jory just sent them today,"

He doesn't tell her that he's also waiting for another e-mail from Jory about the list of attendees that he'd asked for. There's a gut feeling he'd find an unwelcome guest on that list and he wants to make sure he knows what to look out for.

Jon still doesn't know plenty about Petyr Baelish but that doesn't mean he needs more information to understand that the man is clever. If he managed to get a seat at the dinner for Ned Stark's inauguration, there's no doubt he can get an invite to his birthday party.

In fact, it doesn't seem like he has any trouble getting into a lot of important events around the country, based on further research.

He's well-connected, which just makes him as dangerous as Ramsay when it comes to Sansa's safety, at least in Jon's perspective.

"Mom said we need to go to a fitting days before the party, by the way," Sansa broke his thought, returning his phone to him. "I just remembered."

"For what?"

"Dress fitting, for the party," she supplied, giving him a fond smile. "She sent me a few designs while you were away so I picked yours to match mine, I hope you don't mind."

"My outfit?" He frowned, confused.

She tilted her head to study him curiously. "You don't want to match?"

"No, not that. I mean -- " his frown deepened, getting more confused by the second. "It would've been cheaper if I just rented out a suit, I'll only wear it once and I'll just be standing on corners while I keep an eye out, anyway."

She scoffed, poking him on his side. "No, you're not. I'm not letting you. You're supposed to be my date."

"I am?" He turns to her, surprised. This is all news to him.

"Yeah," she confirmed, then frowned. "Unless you don't want to?"

That statement makes him scoff in turn. Like he'll ever not want to be her date for anything.

"Of course I want to, I just... I didn't realize. But -- " he made a face, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Are you sure you want me as your date?"

He'd probably make a terrible one; he hasn't gone to one of the Starks' extravagant parties in something like six years, and he hadn't exactly been as involved in the ones that he remembered attending to know what to do.

Sansa rolled her eyes, like she expected him to be this way.

"Well, duh. Of course I do," she said in confirmation. "Who else would I want to bring?"

"No one?" He phrases it as a question, almost disbelieving even though he sort of knows it to be true.

She rolled her eyes again but the upward pull of her lips betray any annoyance she pretends to feel.

"Absolutely no one," she agrees, finally, and it makes him so fucking ecstatic.

She really doesn't know how statements like this make him feel. He took a deep breath, arms tightening around her as he considered what to do.

"If I kissed you right now, would you let me?"

Her eyes instantly flick down to his mouth upon the mention of a kiss, then she meets his gaze again, eyes bright and playful as she said, "Why don't you try and see?"

He licks his lips, waiting for her to pull away - expecting her to pull away - because she might just be joking. When she doesn't, he leans in, slow, and captures her lips on a kiss.

Instantly, almost as though she was only waiting for him to spur into action before she does so herself, her fingers tugged on his curls, trying to erase any and all distance between them, and he doesn't disappoint.

They still haven't discussed what this is supposed to mean; in the week that he's been back, they've managed to avoid the conversation even as they tested their limitations.

There have been plenty of kisses in the time between his return up to now; some quick and barely-there, some longer and more passionate. Some, and even just the thought of it still blows his mind, are the kind of kisses that makes him want to stay in the moment forever and never leave.

Such a kiss is like this one now, an equal amount of playful and passionate, and he's still surprised that he gets to have her be like this with him.

The sudden gasp, followed by an "Oh, shit," makes the two of them disentangle, and sees Podrick standing by the entrance of the dining room, failing to make a swift exit.

"Um..." He said, awkward, as he scratched his head uncomfortably and looked at anywhere but them. "I just - uh... breakfast... I was - sorry -" he backed away quickly, tripping on his feet as he does. "Let's forget I was here and, um... you guys... carry on."

Once the coast is clear, Sansa drops her head on his chest with a groan. "That was so embarrassing."

"For him or for us?" He asked, teasing, chuckling before he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

Whatever the answer is, he can't regret it with her in his arms like that.

It might not be clear what it means between them yet, but he doesn't mind waiting to find out; he knows he loves her, he knows he wants to spend all his life with her from this point forward, and he can wait for her to figure out if she wants those same things too.

For now he'll just succumb to the kisses, to the touches, to the soft look in her eyes when she looks at him, and he thinks that's enough.

 

 

**Sansa**

  
There's a small blue envelop on her chair when she arrives at the lecture hall come Friday afternoon.

It's not exactly her seat because there's no official sitting arrangement, but she always gets to class early and it's always been where she'd chosen to sit since the first day of class, so she considers it as hers. Someone else obviously thinks the same; someone who's been watching her.

Written on top of the envelop, she reads as soon as she's close enough, is the name _Alayne Stone_ , and it erases any doubt she had that it's meant for someone else.

"What's that?" Jon asked when he gets close, catching onto her discomfort immediately.

"I don't know," she denies reflexively, trying to act nonchalant. "Someone must've left it from the class before."

He nodded, unassuming, and threw the envelop on the seat next to hers so she can sit. "Want me to give you comapny while you wait for class?"

"No."

The answer surprises them both; she does want him to stay. The hair on the back of her neck is standing, like even in the empty room someone's watching them, and she needs Jon to with her to feel safe - but she can't let him. Not if she wants to read what's in the envelop.

"I'll just be double checking my paper, it'll be boring for you," she explains, letting a calmness she doesn't feel settle on her face.

There's a strange expression on his, like he doesn't quite believe her, but he just nods before leaving her in her lonesome.

She waits until the door closes behind him and she's sure that he's not coming back before she grabbed the envelop from the other table.

She doesn't have to wonder who it's from; Baelish is the only one who's ever called her Alayne. He's the one who invented the name, the one who used it to try to make her forget who she is.

She's not as afraid as she expected to be once Baelish finally caught up to her; in a way, she'd always expected it. He was too fond of her to ever truly let her go.

She took a deep breath, shutting her eyes for a second before she finally opened the envelop.

Inside is a collection of photographs, that's the first thing she realizes, and it takes a while more to sink in that they're photos, not of her, but of Jon.

There's a lot of them too; some taken at the airport, to and from the Wall and some are taken from just around town this past few days. As far as she can tell, none of the pictures include her, which leaves no question who the target is.

The last photo, if the others weren't confirmation enough, is of Jon's military headshot with a note on the side: _If he keeps looking, he might not like what he finds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. Why couldn't I have just left the chapter all sweet and romantic, right? If it makes you feel better (it probably won't), here's an excerpt from chapter 21:
> 
> "Jon - " she falters, her throat tight in fear . "You don't know what you just got yourself into."
> 
> He frowns, as though his confusion only deepens. "And you do?"
> 
> Her frustration reaches a new peak, all because he never asks the wrong question; because he always asks the ones she doesn't want to answer.
> 
> "Yes, I do," she admits to him now, her voice broken and angry. "I do because for three years it's all I've known. "


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by [The1WeLiveInNow's ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The1WeLiveInNow/pseuds/The1WeLiveInNow) very persuasive comments throughout the month to get me back into writing, hahahaha. 
> 
> I don't usually read comments until after I finish writing an update but I got curious after seeing an e-mail from ao3 about their comments on the same chapter.
> 
> So, yeah, thank you The1WeLiveInNow, you broke my writing block so this one is for you!!! Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> (I hope you all enjoy it! :D)

Jon

  
"Alright, again," Jon instructs, backing away from Sansa once more. Across from him, she gets up from the floor, swiping the sweat off her brow as she picked up a defensive stance facing him.

Despite her obvious exhaustion, Jon can see the determination in her eyes, watching him carefully, anticipating his next move. Though it makes him want to smile, seeing her so determined to learn, he keeps his face impassive, bouncing on his feet to try and keep her guessing what he'll do next.

They've been at the gym for hours now, for much longer than she usually trains. If it were up to him, they'd already be home and resting before her class in the afternoon but she insisted to up her training, told him that she's more than ready to learn how to fight.

To be honest, he was putting it off for a while, and for a stupid reason too. A part of him just does not like the idea of her having to fend for herself.

He's told himself that he'll protect her enough times that he sometimes forgets he's not actually invincible - he knows he isn't and he forces himself to make the smarter choice and train her to know what to do at a time when he isn't there to protect her.

He bounces forward on the mat, watching her as carefully as she does him. He waits a bit before feigning an attack from one side then going to the other. They've been at this for a while now that she's expecting it but he's still too quick for her to be able to deflect his advance.

"Stop thinking about every single thing. Focus on just this," he advises, locking his arms around her neck from behind with just enough pressure to stimulate the feeling of an attack. "Get out of your head, Sansa. Let your instincts kick in."

"I'm trying," she tells him through gritted teeth, her hands trying to get his off without technique.

She does it in an almost manic way that makes him think this is having a bad effect on her; bringing in memories. He notices that her breathing is different now, short and quick, and her eyes are shut with terror etched on her face.

He loosens his arms on her, his heart sinking at the thought that he did this to her, and he's about to call a break when she says: "No, don't."

She snaps his arms back on her, holding it together tightly. "Please. I can do this."

"San - "

"No, Jon. I need to do this. Please."

He realizes, from the sound of her voice, that she's crying and it tempts him further to stop, but he could never really say no to her.

"Okay," he relents, locking his arms around her again. "Take a breath and then act. I told you everything you need to know to escape. You got this. "

He feels her take a deep breath and then after a beat she's tugging on his arms again, with more purpose this time, and once he's distracted enough with trying to keep his hold on her, she hits him in the stomach, followed by a kick to his ankle before she releases herself from his hold and pushed him on the ground.

He lets out a satisfied laugh as he hits the floor. "That was good." He pushed himself up, brushing the dust off his pants. "Always use your opponent's vulnerability to your advantage." He holds her wrists up. "Even if they have their hands on you, as long as you're quick enough you can always find a way to turn that to your advantage."

She nodded in understanding, her brows creased in concentration and a new-found drive. "Let's do it again."

He shook his head. "No, that's enough for today. You have to rest. We're flying home tonight, remember?"

"Jon, just one more," she pleads.

"No, Sansa. You can't force yourself to train or you'll end up hurting yourself. Trust me on this."

She lets out a frustrated noise before backing away, scowling at him. He sighed as he watched her head to the shower room, bag in tow, obviously annoyed with him.

They've been training for a while now, maybe a month or two - sometime before he left for the Wall. The gym they're using is owned by a friend of her uncle Edmure so they're allowed to train during off hours without having to worry about other people watching. They come in the morning, around five, and they train for a couple hours before heading back home.

Her physical training has been on a smooth progression that he didn't think there'd be anything to worry about. But he figured that by this point Sansa would be doing a lot better and he's not too convinced that's the case. In other aspects, maybe, but recently she's just been so... intense. And it's worrying him a little.

He doesn't know what's been up with her. It's like she's been running on such a short fuse that literally anything can set her off. He wishes he can help her deal with whatever it is but he just doesn't know how. And, to be honest, he doesn't think she wants his help. Not that it would stop him, it just --

It feels different, whatever's going on with her now. He doesn't know what changed but he feels her pulling away and blocking him from getting to her. Even now it feels like she's unreachable when she's only just a few feet away.

He walks over to his own duffel, grabbing a shirt to change into while waiting for Sansa to freshen up. He sits on the floor facing the shower area and grabbed his phone.

He checks for messages and saw a missed call from Sam. He hasn't heard from his friend since finding out about Petyr Baelish and he's hoping that this call means he found something useful so he calls him back.

"Please tell me something good," he greets with a plea as soon as Sam picks up.

"Um, well. I'm not sure if this is good or bad news so you're gonna have to decide on your own, but -- yeah, I did find something to, uh. Explain things, I guess? I'm still a little confused myself so I don't - "

"Sam," he cut off. "Just tell me what it is, please."

"Right. Uh..." Sam blew out a big breath. "Do you know who will inherit all of Baelish's assets once he dies?"

Jon frowns. He's not sure how this information relates to anything and he wishes Sam would just go straight to the point but he goes along with it.

"No. Who?"

"It's Sansa." Sam waits for his response but he continues once he realizes he's not getting one. "I wasn't really looking to find this but -- I was trying to figure out how he could've smuggled her out of the Red Keep and to the Dreadfort without anyone noticing so I was digging through all his deals and stumbled upon the name of his lawyer and obviously I hacked into the guy's e-mails. Just a side note, it's sad how easy that was to do but anyway... um, yeah, I found documents stating exactly what I said."

"What..." Jon rubs his forehead, at a loss for words. He doesn't know how to process this new information or even what to do with it. "What does that mean? Why would he..?"

Jon's gut is telling him that Petyr Baelish is somehow a part of Sansa's abduction, no doubt about it, he just needs a narrative to figure out how he did it and for what reason. The problem is that it's starting to feel impossible to find the answers to those questions.

Baelish works too cleanly to catch anything and he's fucking unpredictable, based on recent development, and Jon just doesn't know what to do anymore.

"Do you think I should tell Ned? I think he'll do a much better job than I can with this. He's got resources and it's for his daughter, obviously he's gonna - "

"If he believes you, even without any tangible evidence, then he's going to do everything in his power to catch this guy - which might not ne a good thing." Sam paused thoughfully. "It doesn't feel like it but we have the upperhand right now. Baelish doesn't know we're looking into him but if we bring more people in, especially someone as powerful as Ned Stark, he might figure it out and cover his trails even more than he already has. We'll have no hope of catching him then."

Jon sighed. "You're right. It's just -- "

"You care about her and you want her to be safe," Sam says for him. "And it frustrates you because you don't know how to make that happen."

"Yeah."

"We've got this, Jon. We've brought down worse people than this guy, we just have to keep trying." Then he adds, "hold on, I did find something else while looking through the e-mails." Sam paused and Jon can hear him typing in the background. "The name Alayne Stone keeps popping up so I looked it up. I thnk she might be his daughter, I'll send you all I've got on her but it's not much. I've found no documents of someone with that name that's still alive so I think her file's been erased."

"The name sounds familiar but - why would it be erased?" Jon asked, unconvinced. "And how sure are you that she's his daughter if there aren't any documents to prove it."

"Well, technically, there are. I found newspaper articles that are about two years old, the daughter was going to get married to a Harry Hardying and Baelish was named the proud father of the bride. Honestly, newspaper trails are all I've got. Only reason I looked into it is that nowhere in Baelish's files does it say he has a daughter. Seriously, this guy is sketchy."

Jon mutters a noise of assent, just as Sansa walks out of the shower room. "Uh, send me all you've got and I'll check it out. Thanks, Sam. I gotta go."

He doesn't get to check Sam's e-mail until after dinner and by then he's gotten really antsy about it. He's not entirely sure how this whole secret daughter business is related to Ramsay - this Petyr guy seems shady enough to have many reasons for doing what he does - but it's been months since there's been any lead on Ramsay.

Jon just needs a win.

He scrolls through Sam's e-mail, reading everything thoroughly. There's the screen caps from the lawyer's e-mails and archived news articles that connects Baelish to this Alayne Stone. There aren't any official documents to prove said daughter exists, but Sam found enough public record from various newspapers and websites that does confirm the existance of one.

It's within a very specific time period, though, one that nags at Jon. All of the articles are dated around the time of Sansa's disappearance, and nothing before or after that. He feels his chest tighten at the realization that comes to him, his attention snapping to Sansa who's just coming out of the bathroom.

"Alayne?" He called, soft and tentative, waiting for some kind of reaction.

He sees her shoulder stiffen but other than that, she doesn't give anything away. She turns to him, a picture of complete innocence. "Did you say something?"

His heart falls at that, eyes watching her in slight disappointment. It's painful to see her try to pass it off as nothing when he can tell that she's lying.

"Alayne," he repeats, more firmly this time. "That's you, isn't it? That's how he smuggled you out of King's Landing?"

It's not exactly what he thinks but he's waiting for a reaction to confirm or deny his guess. Her face darkens though and that's all he needs to undeertand that he's got it right.

"Jon." She shakes her head, this crack in her mask peeking through. "No. You can't know that. You need to stop whatever you're doing. It's dangerous. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"And you do?" He asked, though he thinks he already knows the answer.

"I do," she confirmed, not breaking eye contact. "I know because It's what I've had to live with for years. It's what I'm still living with."

He blinks back his surprise. This is the closest Sansa has come to acknowledging what happened to her and he wasn't prepared.

He swallowed, coming up with a response. "So let me help you. Let's end this. Once and for all."


	22. Chapter 22

**Sansa**

  
Sansa feels herself frown as she looked at Jon in disbelief. Help..?

"I don't want your _help_." She spat out. Privately, she adds, _I want you alive._ "You only think you're helping but you're actually making it worse."

He frowned, aghast. "How am I doing that? It's already a terrible situation, Sansa!"

"Well, you're not making it any better with what you're doing."

"And you're not doing anything to make it better, either, so what does - " he stopped himself, breathing heavily. "Sansa, I get that you're scared, but this -- not telling anyone the truth about what happened to you? This Petyr guy? Your silence protects him. It ensures his freedom to harm not just you but anyone else he wants to hurt."

"Don't you think I know that? What - do you think I enjoy knowing that he's out there? Do you think it doesn't keep me up at night?" She took a shaky breath, her voice faltering as one of the many secrets she'd kept stumble out. "He took me from my family, Jon. He manipulated me and made me do things I didn't want to do."

She let herself fall on the bed, her legs giving out. "I wish I could do something but I can't. You have to understand -- Jon, my dad was the most powerful man in Westeros and that didn't stop Baelish from doing what he wanted. Nothing can. I know that better than anyone, so, please... please just leave it alone."

"I can't." He looks at her apologetically. "I can't do that, Sansa. Not now when I know how much pain he's caused you. Not when I know he's still a threat to you."

She let out a heavy breath, not even expecting any other answer from her stubborn, stubborn boy. Still, she tries, "Jon. Please listen to me. He'll hurt you if you don't stop."

He shook his head. "He won't," he assured, voice soft now as he approached her. "He won't hurt me or you, I won't let him." He knelt in front of her, holding both her hands to his. "Sansa, I promise you we'll get through this."

She untangled her hand from his to caress his cheek. She's tried for weeks to distance herself from him and failed. "You don't know it yet but you've already lost," she tells him, chest aching at the truth of it. "He's always ten steps ahead - you think you're playing him but he made the game. He's too good, you can't beat him."

She sees him try to make sense of it, can understand the confusion on his face.

For so long now anyone who's heard of what happened three years ago thinks it was a failed attempt on assassinating the president. To them, Sansa's abduction was only plan B.

But in all those years, no call for ransom ever came. No compromise had been asked of the president in exchange for his daughter. In fact, her abductors had done their best to keep her hidden; to keep anyone from finding out where she is.

And, still, no one ever realized that the assassination attempt was only a distraction to a successful abduction.

"You don't know that," Jon tried to argue. "I can - "

She shook her head. "You can't do anything he doesn't already expect. He knows, Jon. He knows that you've been looking into him."

He looked at her in equal surprise and confusion at her words. She wasn't supposed to know about it, either.

"How do you..." He stops before he finished his question, the gears turning in his head. "The envelope. You knew it was for you, that's why you've been weird all this time. What did he say?"

"It's in the bottom drawer," she tells him, resigned.

There's no use fighting him in this, she can tell. What she can do now is make him understand just how dangerous Petyr is, and maybe that'll stop this nonsense about bringing him down.

Jon stood up immediately, grabbing the envelop from the drawer to check its content. She watches as his confusion deepens as he flipped through the picture of only him. Finally, once he's gone through the last of it, he looked up at her, holding out a photo.

"What does this mean?"

She glanced at it for barely a second, knowing that it's the photo with the warning without further inspection. "It means he's onto you and the price of your knowledge is your life."

"So, what -- he sent you these so you would stop me?" She can tell that he can't make sense of it - can't undererstand the idea of all this being a game.

He's a soldier; he's seen battles and while she has no doubt that he's great at what he does, this isn't anything he's seen before -- her enemies fight in a different kind of battle field.

She swallowed. "No, he sent it so I would know why you had to die."

His expression hardens for a moment before he lets out a sigh. "And you believe him." She looked down, not even denying it. "Well, why am I still alive then? He's gotten plenty of chances to kill me, what's he waiting for?"

"It doesn't work like that. He's not going to do anything that can be traced back to him." She shook her head, thinking of what Petyr would do. "It would be -- you getting lost at sea or falling down a cliff or a broken car going off the rails. Some form of accident. That's what he does to people who know too much."

He mulls it over for a moment. "You seem to know a lot," he said, pointing out the fact without an outright accusation.

"I do know a lot. But he won't hurt me," she admits, bitter. "He's in love with me."

She sees Jon step back in surprise, not expecting that revelation. "He's in love with you," he repeats, voice coming out strange. "Since when?"

"Since he decided to recreate his childhood love with me," she offers in explanation, looking down as she feels vile rise up her throat. "See, I'm said to be the exact image of his greatest love."

She looked back up to watch the expression on his face,cwaiting for him to understand. He's been researching on Baelish, surely he's found the simplest piece of information out there.

"What do you -- he grew up with your - he married your aunt, but..." He inhaled a sharp breath, hesitant to admit the unsavory truth. "You're talking about your mother." He shook his head. "You're telling me he's doing all this because he's, what - in love - "

"No, he's doing all this out of spite," she cut him off before he could finish his sentence. "To show my mother that she made the wrong decision to choose another man over him. He wants to see them suffer while he gets his happy ending."

That seems to stir something in Jon; he starts pacing im front of her as he took his phone from his back pocket, typing hurriedly.

"Jon, no." Sansa stood from the bed immediately and pried the phone off him. "You can't."

He turned to her in complete shock. "Sansa, he's going after your family, you said so yourself, and you don't want me to tell your father about it?"

"What will you even say, huh? What evidence do you have that isn't circumstantial? Even if dad believes you, what hope do you have of getting the upperhand?" She sighed. "If you want to beat Petyr, you can't just keep going along with every idea you come up with. You have to be smarter than that."

"Then tell me what I need to do. You obviously know how he thinks, help me understand."

She made a face. The last thing she wants is to give Jon more reason to dig into Baelish but it doesn't look like he'd listen no matter how many times she tells him to stop.

"You're really not going to leave this alone, are you?" She asked.

"No. Not until I know for sure that he's not a threat to you or your family."

"Fine." Sansa took a deep breath. She wasn't expecting any other answer from him which means there's only one thing for her to do. "I'll tell you what you need to know but you have to promise me something first."

"What is it?"

"You have to promise that you'll tell me before you do anything related to Petyr." She gave him a pleading look. "Like you said, I know the way he thinks -- you have to trust me on that and you have to listen to me when I tell you not to do something crazy."

"Alright, done. I promise. But you have to promise me something, too," he adds knowingly. "We're doing this together, you and I. You can't block me out and we can't keep secrets - like this letter, for example - from each other."

He offered his hand out to her to seal the deal and she takes it in acceptance. "Deal."

It doesn't ensure Jon's safety completely but as long as it means she knows what he's trying to do then she'll go along with it. It's the only way she can figure out how to keep him safe in all this.

"There's something else you need to know," he adds hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at her. "I asked Jory for the list of attendees to the event and Petyr Baelish is on that list. He's coming to the party."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by tubbylita, I'm linking the [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYkSAUn4OEzoMtmmmfxsIs0ExHdNVcGA7) I listen to to get in the mood for this fic. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it and see jonsa in those songs as I have. :D


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was slightly influenced by the song, "Let me in", by Skinny Living, and I recommend listening to it bc it's soooo much feels!!!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this. :D

**Sansa**

 

They arrive in Winterfell just as the sun starts to shine. It's still too early for anyone in her family aside from her mother to be awake but little Rickon comes running down the steps of the house as soon as their car pulls into the drive.

"Sansaaaaaa," he screams happily, running all the way to her in full speed, forgetting for a moment how much his oldest sister squirms away from physical affection as his body slams into her with some force. She's glad for it, though, and she wraps her arms around Rickon instinctively, laughing in amusement.

"Hey, little man." She leans down to press a kiss on top of his head like she would when he was much younger. "Why are you awake so early?"

"Mom said you were coming today so I made her wake me up," he told her, voice coming muffled with his face against her stomach. He looks up for a moment just to give her a toothy grin. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," she lets him know, brushing his unruly curls away from his face to press another kiss between his brow.

She remembers, after a long time, just how good it feels to be someone's big sister. Young as he is, she doubts Rickon fully understands what she went through, and there's some comfort in that. She always felt guilty about it, watching him try to be careful around her even as the wildest of them all.

She remembers how it was the past year, seeing him struggle with containing himself just so he doesn't scare her with an accidental touch. Maybe someone told him not to, or maybe the way she reacts in the few times someone dared touch her made him understand, but she's glad she can give him this now. This small reminder that there's still some of that sister he remembers left in her.

They're ushered inside not long after that, with sweet little Rickon clinging to her as though he doesn't intend to let go.

Jon puts a hand to the small of her back in reassurance, knowing, without her having to tell him, that it's all overwhelming despite how hard she's trying to deal. His touch sends a comforting warmth somewhere deep inside her, along with some courage, and she flashes him a grateful smile that he returns instantly.

She likes it, his smile, and she doesn't tell him that she'd learned the perfect technique to wrangle them out of him. All she has to do, really, is to smile at him, and for some reason he has this need to smile back; an instinctual response.

So she smiles at him a lot, liking how his lips would curve up everytime she did. Her favorite of them all is the one that makes the corners of his eyes wrinkle as a huge smile breaks out on his face. It comes rarely, and it always makes something inside her tingle.

  
Her siblings aren't programmed to wake up early on the weekends, and even so, they'd already finished their final dress fitting, so it's only Sansa, Jon, Rickon, and his mother, along with a number of guards, who drives into town to check out their clothes for the party after breakfast.

She's apprehensive as soon as she's put on her dress; it's a fairly simple design, it's made in a cloth of a muted shade of blue, just as she'd requested. It doesn't expose too much of her skin than necessary. And it hugs her body just right. But when she looks at herself in the mirror she finds herself feeling self-conscious, afraid that the dress might be too revealing than she's comfortable with.

As soon as Jon is out of his own dressing room, though, in his crisp blue suit and an undone gray bowtie hanging around his neck that matches her dress so completely, she remembers why she chose it in the first place.

His eyes immidiately travels down her figure, and that --

It's for that reason exactly that she'd chosen to wear something like this. To see that look in his eyes - that dazed expression, as though she'd just punched all the air out of his lungs.

For a brief moment in time that had been her primary goal: to impress him. And it's such a mundane thought that it almost feels funny.

She'd forgotten how it is to only have problems like that.

"Do you like it?" She asked as she gestured him to come to her, so she could fix his tie for him.

He shakes himself off his from daze and cleared his throat as he moved towards her. "Um, yeah... you look beautiful."

And it's almost easy to forget that her mother and youngest brother are both there to witness the exchange.

After the fitting, her mother still has a few errands to run, which they tag along to for lack of anything better to do. They grab lunch first, then they meet with the organizers afterwards before visiting the venue for some final arrangements with the hotel.

Throughout the whole day she notices Jon acting strange. To anyone else is seems like he's only doing his job and his face remains guarded, but she knows better now. He may be fooling everyone else but she can see the worry in his eyes, like he's expecting something bad to happen at any moment.

She slipped her fingers through his and he turns to look at her in understanding, squeezing her hand for reassurance. "Everything's fine. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," she tells him. _Not at the moment, at least._ "You are."

He takes a moment to think about his response, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb all the while. There's a fiery glint in his eyes, one that makes her realize it's not just worry but something else more dangerous.

"I'm just being vigilant is all," he tells her.

This is because of what she'd told him just the day before, admitting to him the things she thought she'd never tell anyone. She felt relieved when she did but she now finds herself regretting it a little.

She was hoping the truth would convince him to stay out of it, not to give him this newfound conviction to protect her at _all_ cost.

Later, when it's time for bed and they're at the fourth floor where their rooms are next to each other, she sees him lingering by her door, unsure of whether to stay or go to his own room. She holds a hand out to him because she knows that's what he's waiting for; a sign that it's what she wants, too. Always waiting for her first.

She's staying in the same room she'd been using since a year ago, and she feels the question stumble out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "Do you remember this room?"

He nodded instantly. "Yeah. When I was younger, I used to stay here whenever I slept over. It used to seem so big, I had trouble sleeping."

He says it in a tone that suggests he didn't think she knew, when, in fact, her actual room had been the one below, and she remembers late nights when she would twist and turn in her own bed, irritated at the boy in the room above hers who kept pacing around for hours on end.

"I used to get so annoyed whenever you stayed over," she admits, flashing him a rueful grin. "I could never sleep until you did because you made so much noise."

But then Ramsay got her and he would lock her up in the basement of his compound, the floorboard above her creaking at every movement. She would just pull up Jon's picture from where she keeps it safe in her pillow and shut her eyes, and it's easier to pretend then that she's just in her old room back in Winterfell and it's only the boy with the dark curls and deep gray eyes who's pacing around above her so late into the night. And it's almost comforting then.

"I'm sorry," he tells her now, returning her smile with a sheepish one. "You could've said something, I would've taped my ass to the bed so I wasn't bothering you."

"It's actually funny," she tells him. "It was all those things that annoyed me about you that kept me sane."

He tilts his head sideways, looking at her curiously, and it's enough of a question about what he means, and somehow she lets more truths come stumbling out of her, the words coming much easier than the night before.

She tells him about that picture of him she kept in her time at the Dreadfort, how she found it and how it gave her back a piece of home. She tells him about how carefully she would keep it tucked between her torn up pillow and how she avoided pressing her head on that spot where it's hidden so she doesn't rumple it. She tells him how often she would take it out at night, letting it remind her of simpler times, happier times, and how she would cry herself to sleep sometimes, pretending that she wasn't alone in that hellhole, and how it would work because after imagining him for so long, his face has become so vivid in her mind that he almost feels real.

Finally, she tells him about the day she was found by authorities, locked in that same room as she sat on one corner, clutching that picture to her chest as she prayed for the first time in years, and she prayed for _home_.

She could see the frown forming in his brows. "I didn't know about all this."

"I wasn't going to tell you," she admits, and even something as vague as that is enough for him to understand her intention.

He groaned. "You didn't really think telling me that would make me less convinced to bring down those who hurt you, did you?"

It strikes her only then of how far they've come; how even the littlest of movements can cue one of the other's intentions.

"Of course not. I just wanted you to know what you're asking me to deal with if you went after them yourself and got hurt because of me," she tells him, tracing that scar on his forehead out of habit. His face softened, expression a mix of awe, amusement and aggravation. "If you really want my help in ending this then you have to swear you're not risking yourself for me. It's the last thing I want. You have to let the authorities handle it."

She knows that law emforcement can only work for so long; Ramsay had been captured once and he still escaped, and Petyr's never even been caught in all these years, but she'd risk it if it means Jon's not in harm's way.

He's already been through enough, the scars she'd seen on him is enough proof of that. And she's not sure she'd want to go on, even if they take them all down, if he got himself killed too.

He sighed, his lips upturned into a resigned smile. "You do know this is supposed to work the other way around, right? I'm the one who should be protecting you."

She shrugged. "Or we can just try to protect each other."

She's not sure who leans in first, but she's fine thinking it's the both of them meeting each other in the middle.

Their kiss starts off soft and slow, the pair of them moving in sync as they walked towards the bed. She puts his hands around her waist because it's just been hovering around her, waiting for her to tell him where to touch her.

It's one of the many things she appreciates about Jon; he gives her all the control, lets her set the pace to her comfort.

He lands on the bed with a soft thud, and she's on his lap in no longer than a second, replacing his hands around her back. "You don't have to be so careful," she assures him between breaths, urging his hands to move in its own free will. "I'm fine, Jon."

She'll admit that he had reason to think otherwise. When they started this - this thing between them - she'd been a lot more afraid. He didn't give her any reason to be, of course not, but even the slightest of touches could bring unsavory memories to surface, making her flinch away in panic.

It always makes him feel so guilty when that happens, she sees it plain on his face, thinking he's responsible for her reaction when all he's doing is erasing all the bad memories planted into her skin, with his every touch. Less and less, the memories would flash to her, and sometimes, with him kissing her like this, she could even forget that there were others who tried to touch her before him.

 _Soft hands making its way under her skirt. Unlocked doors. A not-so-accidental brush of a hand to her breast. Unprompted kisses. The smell of mint_. These things flashes in her mind's eye in that instant but it's gotten so much easier to shove the thoughts where she can't reach them and she focuses her mind to where Jon's hands are now, spreading warmth in her skin and somewhere deeper within.

"Okay?" He mutters, voice hoarse, as he pulled away slightly to ask after her, and all she has to do is press her lips against his in response.

They've never really gone farther than this; soft kisses that turns rough and hands that explore the expanse of each other's skin. But lately she'd been wondering how much farther they could go, finds herself even wanting to see where they end up.

She feels safe with him, among feeling many other things, and she thinks he's the one person she'd ever do this with; expose her vulnerabilities in a way she never would to somebody else.

"I love you," he whispers into the shell of her ear later that night, when he thinks she's already asleep, and the words manage to spread warmth in her all throughout.

It's an odd thing, hearing such admission by accident. Jon obviously didn't mean for her to hear, otherwise he would've told her to her face, and she wonders why that is. Does he think she wouldn't want to hear it? Or maybe he's afraid she won't echo the words?

 _Would she have said it back to him if he told her while he thought she was awake?_ She wonders. _Would she mean it?_

She waits to make sure he's asleep before she shifts to face him, learning thathis features are softer in his sleep but no less brooding. She realizes for the first time that this is only the second time she's seen him asleep.

He always waits for her to doze off before sleeping himself and he always wakes before her in the morning. She finds out, sometime afterwards, why that is.

She has her head on his chest, his torso bare in their previous explorations, and she's trying to make out the scars littered on his stomach when he suddenly snaps awake, body stiff and frozen.

She turns to him in surprise, catching that cloud in his eyes where, for a moment, she knows he's not there with her, but somewhere else.

 _He gets them too,_ she thinks to herself, realization dawning on her that he's been trying to keep it from her all this time. _He has nightmares too._

She remembers months ago, on his first night back here, and he suggested that listening to music might help her get rid of her nightmares. He didn't sound like he believed it, she could tell he just wanted something to say, but she didn't know he got the suggestion from people who thought it could help _him_.

Slowly, his eyes settle on her, and they just stare at each other for a moment until she leans forward, capturing his mouth on a soft kiss before telling him something that had kept her awake throughout the night:

" _I love you too_."

  
They're still awake when the sun starts to peek through the curtains but neither of them has spoken since. They're just lying there in silence, with Sansa writing the words 'i love you' over and over into his skin as he rubbed her arm soothingly, up and down and and back again.

She doesn't think they need to discuss it, not at the moment. She just wants to revel in the feeling of it, in knowing that she loves and is loved, and that it could be enough.

 

 

 

 

**Jon**

  
Mrs. Stark hired a team to help with the ladies' hair and make-up for the night, which means that it's no surprise that Arya's the first to finish preparing among them.

She's almost as averse to these things as Jon is and he couldn't help but grin at the sight of her in her black dress and the sound of her feet that seems too heavy on the floor for it to be heels.

She comes to sit next to him on the couch, watching Bran and Rickon wheel around the room, and she puts her feet up on the coffee table to reveal her dirty sneakers.

"Your brain's going to explode," is the first thing she tells him and he unfortunately doesn't know what that means.

"Why?" He asked warily.

She smirked. "Sansa looks stunning and she wasn't even finished preparing when I left them. I bet you ten dragons your heart's going to stop when you see her."

Jon feels himself smile. Arya makes it sound so fatal. "Why am I going to bet against that? I completely agree. I've seen her dress, and I've seen her -- anything more than what I've seen might actually kill me."

Arya patted him on the back. "Good luck with that." A pause. "So, you're really gone on her, huh?"

And when Sansa comes down later, walking down the stairs with her dress swaying like it's a part of her, fiery red hair curled into an intricate design, and her make-up highlighting the parts of her that he loves (which is everything), he finds that the answer to Arya's question is:

_Yes. Definitely. Undeniably. Beyond completely._

He took a deep breath, trying not to stumble like an idiot as he made his way towards Sansa. She looks nervous, and he knows tonight will be difficult for her in light of past events and people she might have to face, so he swallows down his own nerves and flashes her a wide smile, proffering his arm to her.

"Shall we?"


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's fond of you," Petyr notes before she could tear her eyes away from Jon.
> 
> She tries to keep her face clear of any emotion, shoving all her fears behind a calm exterior. "He's just doing his job."
> 
> "And you?" Petyr asked lightly, though she can sense the threat there. "What are you doing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for... Petyr Baelish. (?) He's going to be his usual creepy, icky, self, so just be prepared for that, I guess.

**Sansa**

  
Sansa spots Petyr Baelish among the crowd of people almost as soon as she enters the ballroom. She wasn't looking for him specifically, she was even hoping she might not have to deal with him yet, but he's not making any effort in blending in. He _wants_ her to see him; makes a point of standing at whichever direction she's facing to make him that much difficult to ignore.

Still, she tries her best to pretend she doesn't notice for as long as she could, making a show of being around a lot of people as an excuse as to why she's not making a move to talk to him.

She's been thinking of how the whole thing will play out since Jon told her about Petyr being in attendance. She knows there's no other way out of it aside from pretending to be that same silly, clueless girl he remembers, the one he could manipulate so easily.

"Do you think they have that pink cocktail you got me when we went out for drinks last time?" She asked Jon next to her, nodding towards the bar, but he only gives her a flat stare.

She knows he's pissed behind that mask of passivity. She'd asked him to pretend that he has no idea of anything that's going on, to make himself look innocent. It's the only way she can make sure Petyr doesn't see him as a threat.

And for it to be convincing, Jon has to play along.

"Jon, don't let it get to you," she tells him quietly, discreetly slipping her fingers through his underneath the table. "Please."

He huffed. "He's been following you around all evening."

A fact that hasn't escaped her. "He's going to keep doing that until I talk to him, so -- "

"That's not happening," Jon tells her firmly, looking at her sharply. "Sansa, there's no way you're talking to that guy."

"Says who?" She challenged, looking him straight in the eyes. "Are you really going to try and stop me?"

He scowled at that, shaking his head in irritation. "You're infuriating."

"Unlike you?" She retorts. "We talked about this, I don't have a choice. He's here for me and if I don't talk to him now he's going to find another way and I doubt you'd like that any better."

She kept her plans secret until last minute, knowing full well that Jon would dislike it. If she'd told him her plans much earlier, he would've found a way to talk her out of it and she didn't want that to happen, but arguing with him with so many people around isn't proving to be a much better plan.

"Sansa, that guy managed to steal you away in the middle of a crowded room. I'm not enough of an idiot to let you go anywhere near him again."

"He's not going to do that again," she tells him, unwilling to go into this right now. Petyr wasn't even the one who did it the first time, he paid someone else to do his dirty work for him.

She knows it's a futile effort to get Jon to go along with her plans, though, so she decides to just leave it alone for now.

She pulled his hand to her. "How about you take me for a dance?"

He scoffed. "You're not going to distract me from this conversation."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to. I just know you're not gonna budge and I'm done trying to convince you."

"So you're not gonna go through with it anymore?"

"I didn't say that." And before he could continue to argue with her, she sighed. "Jon, let's not fight about this anymore, things are stressful enough."

He huffed again, deafeated, his expression softening as he looked at her. "Alright, fine." He sqeezed her hand gently. "Let's go have that dance."

The song playing is fairly slow and romantic but she's careful to keep a respectable distance between them, a bid to keep up appearances even though all she really wants is to have his srms tightly around her. They dance to a few songs and slowly she feels herself relax enough that she forgets her worries, at least for the moment.

He has that effect on her.

"What are you thinking?" He asked her as they swayed around the dance floor, the distance between them growing smaller and smaller as they went on.

She tilts her head, looking at him with a soft smile. "I was wondering if you'd actually ask me out on a proper date."

He blinks in surprise, caught off-guard, before a smile slowly appeared. "You want me to?"

"Obviously."

His smile grows. "Tomorrow, then. I'll take you out on the best date ever."

 

 

Not long after they headed back to their table, she finds her opening to speak with Petyr. She doesn't want to do it but she can't prolong the inevitable; if not now, she knows he wouldn't hesitate to do something drastic just to get what he wants.

"I'll just be a moment," she tells her siblings as they all chatted at their table, standing up to head to the bathroom. Before she could leave, though, she sees Jon giving her a strained look that she completely ignores.

Petyr finds her before she finds him, his hand going around her waist before she could even prepare herself. "Were you looking for me?"

She sucks in a deep breath, forcing her mind to relax. "Yes, I actually am," she tells him with a smooth smile, letting him lead her into the balcony so they could talk in private.

She looks around discreetly, checking to see if Jon's watching from their table, and the sight of him brings a certain kind of calmness deep within.

_She can do this._

"He's fond of you," Petyr notes before she could tear her eyes away from Jon.

She tries to keep her face clear of any emotion, shoving all her fears behind a calm exterior. "He's just doing his job."

"And you?" Petyr asked lightly, though she can sense the threat there. "What are you doing?"

She turns to him, keeping her face blank though she knows what he means to ask. "What do you mean?"

"Do you like him?"

"Yes, I do. I've known him since I was young. He's a good friend," she says, making her voice light to keep the truth of her words from revealing itself.

"Hmm." Petyr takes a sip of his champagne, glancing back at Jon. "Well your friend seems very interested in me."

"He's just doing his job," she repeats her prior statement, hoping it stands.

"His job is to dig up information about me? What have I done to merit such a treatment?"

"He doesn't know anything about that. That was all me," she said calmly, smiling sweetly at him. "I needed to get your attention somehow."

"You? Sweetling, you know you always have my attention." He smirked, thinking this is all going the way he wants it to. "I'm here now. What is it you want, then?"

She took a deep breath. "The truth."

"About what?" He quirked his eyebrows at her with faux-innocence.

"You told me my family was dead, that they were murdered. That's why I stayed at the Eyrie with you. You told me I had no family to get back to, I want to know why you lied."

This isn't a conversation she wants to get into, she doesn't care what lies he thinks he can feed her, but this is the only way it could go. He expects her to have doubts and to give in to him too easily would be obvious. He has to think he's earning back her trust.

"I didn't lie. Sweetling, I thought it was the truth," he tells her with an apologetic look on his face, a true master at the art of deception. "You know how it was in the mountains, news were very hard to come by. I didn't know whey were alive."

She doesn't relent, or pretends not to, anyway. "You sold me to him."

"A mistake, sweetling. One I will regret for the rest of my days. That man was a foul creature and I never should've entrusted him with you. " He placed a hand to her cheek, caressing her, and it takes a lot of effort not to slap it away. "You know I only wanted to keep you safe, do you not?"  
  
She frowned, pretending to battle with her own mind, pretending that she wants to believe him. Pretending that she's idiotic enough to trust him. "It was a mistake?"

He nodded solemnly. "It was. I love you, Sansa. I would never hurt you. Please believe me."

She wonders if some part of him is actually convinced by his own lies, if his delusions are just that or if this is a part of some bigger play.

She nods, once, trying not to vomit at his words and her own. "Of course, Petyr, I believe you. You always looked out for me when no one else did."

It's exactly what he wants to hear, she can see it in the way he's smiling at her so suddenly, all bright and delighed, hiding the malice just underneath.

"Sansa, come away with me," he offered after a moment, projecting some look of concern so he might convince her. All it does is make her want to puke. "Ramsay Bolton is coming after you, we both know it." He moves to grab her hands, pressing it to his chest in a show of sincerity. "You know I'm the only one who can _protect_ you."

She swallowed, forcing herself to play along. "And your wife? Is she coming along with us if we leave?"

He forces back a smile, buying into her whole act of unfounded jealousy. "She doesn't matter. It'll just be you and me, as it's meant to be."

She lets out a breath, trying to keep her voice steady when she says, "let me think about it."

"Of course," he said with a nod. "But don't take too long in thinking about it, sweetling. Ramsay may just be around the corner waiting for you."

She can tell it's meant to inspire fear in her, make her want to go with him right away, but she thinks there's something else to it too. Something that does inspire fear but not any of the desire to flee.

Petyr takes out a card from his wallet and offers it to her. "For when you've come to a decision," he says. "Call me."

He pauses for a moment before he leaves, leaning in to kiss her as he often would in the past, but she tilts her head so it would land on her cheek instead.

"There's too many people here, someone might see," she lied, heart beating so fast she's sure he could hear it.

"We don't want that," he agrees, though there's irritation in his voice. "I'll leave you to it then."

She waits for a moment, watching as he blended into the crowd before she releases the breath she's been holding.

The conversation went exactly as she expected it to; she knew he would be trying to make sure she's still in his grasp and she thinks she'd done a decent job of convincing him, but that doesn't actually make her feel any better.

In fact it only makes her want to cry, vomit, or maybe even take a shower. She wants to forget that that conversation ever happened, to forget that he was just standing there with her as she quietly considered throwing him over the edge of the balcony to vanquish one of her monsters once and for all.

She feels her throat closing in, the panic rising inside, and she manages to keep her composure all the way to the bathroom and inside one of the cubicles before she vomits out her dinner into the bowl.

Just when she thought things were starting to get better she's reminded that nothing good can ever truly happen to her.

 

  
**Jon**

  
Jon never really thought about it, but the ability to physically beat one's self up seems like a useful talent, especially right at this moment.

He shouldn't have let Sansa talk to that Baelish guy on her own. He knew it was a terrible idea and that nothing good would come of it, and he could've tried harder to convince her -- but she already knew all that, didn't she?

She said it herself, she knows Baelish better than anyone. And hard as it is for him to understand, she thinks playing along with this sick mind game is the way to solve their problems, so he's trying to follow her lead. It's just --

Fuck, it's so difficult to do. He's never been the kind of guy to just stand by and watch when he knows there's something wrong in a situation, especially not when it comes to someone he loves, but what else is there to do?

He sighed, glancing at the door to the bathroom and willing Sansa to come out of it. He's tempted to just barge in and see for himself that she's alright but he also wants to give her space. If she wanted him to be there for her, she would've dragged him inside herself.

He's not even sure what to do, if he's honest. If it were up to him, he would've kept that Baelish guy away from her all night, he might've even punched him then called security to escort him out. Ned would have probably understood why he did it, might even have wanted to kill the man himself if he knew what he did to her daughter. But Sansa wouldn't have approved.

Much as he wants to deal with all this in his own terms, Jon knows it isn't his fight. It's Sansa's, and all he can do is make sure she sees it through.

 _She might even manage it all on her own_ , he thinks, recalling how her talk with Baelish went down.

Jon was too far way to hear any of it but he could see them, could see how Sansa transformed into someone else so completely that he almost couldn't recognize her.

She'd seemed so clueless; innocent. Like a girl who didn't know any better. And judging by that smug smile on Baelish's face as he left her, he seemed to have bought it.

The door to the restroom opens suddenly, making him stand straight in attention as Sansa walked out. Her face is a blank canvas, and if he were anyone else he'd think nothing of it, but he's not anyone else. He can see through the mask she's fighting so hard to hold up.

"I should've stepped in," he tells her regretfully, angry with himself that he didn't.

She shook her head. "You did the right thing by not doing that." She paused. "I'm fine, Jon."

A lie if he ever heard one. She tries to offer him a smile, one that doesn't even reach her eyes, and all he wants to do is to envelop her in his arms and kiss all her worries away.

"Come here." He holds his arms out to her, offering her his embrace.

"I can't," she tells him. "He could be watching."

He sighed, stepping in close to pull her into him himself. "He's gone. Left with his wife some few minutes ago. He must've gotten exactly what he wanted."

He tries not to sound jealous about it. He knows it's irrational, it's not like Sansa wanted that creepy fucker to be obsessed with her. She didn't ask for any of this -- but the way Baelish's hand slipped around her waist, watching as it slipped even lower, and how he tried to kiss Sansa at that last moment - Jon would've really enjoyed introducing his fist to that smug fucking asshole.

He almost did, too.

_It was just minutes after Sansa headed for the bathroom when the guy intercepted him, giving him a very friendly smile._

_"You must be Jon Snow. I'd heard plenty about you from Catelyn," he said, offering a hand. "Petyr Baelish."_

_Jon takes it, forcing himself not to break his whole fucking arm in one quick motion._

_Sansa told him that he should play the fool; pretend that he didn't know anything about what's going on. He didn't like the idea but she said that's what she's going to tell Baelish, and unless he wanted her to get in trouble he'd do exactly as she said._

_"Nice to meet you, sir," he says to Baelish, and even manages not to sound disdainful. "Can I help you with anything?"_

_"No, I just thought I'd tell you how grateful I am that you're taking good care of Sansa," the man replied with a sly smile, watching him carefully. "After everything she's been through, I'm pleased to know that a capable man like you is watching out for her."_

_After everything she went through because of you, Jon wanted to spit out._

_"Of course," he said instead, swallowinmg down his anger, as hard as it is. "You know Sansa?"_

_"Yes. I care for her very much." He smirked. "She's a special girl."_

_There's a split second where he considers that the guy is testing him, that he's only trying to get a reaction, but Jon doesn't really give a shit in that moment._

_He snapped, hand grabbing the collar of Baelish's shirt to pull him close enough for Jon to whisper: "You seem to think you're very clever, laying your hands on her when you think no one's watching. If you ever touch Sansa again..." he trailed off, releasing the guy from his grip and pushing him back so he can look at Jon and have no doubt that he means every word of what he's about to say. "I'll kill you myself."_

Sansa lets out a sigh of relief, taking him out of his thought.

"You're okay now," he promised, pressing a kiss to her temple as she breathed him in, akin to Ghost picking up a scent. "I'm not letting him anywhere near you again, okay?"

She nods, and he's not convinced she actually believes him but he'll make sure to do good on his promise.

They don't stay at the event for much longer. The celebrations have started to wind down anyway, and her parents doesn't question it when Jon tells them that Sansa would like to head home.

Her siblings are staying for a bit longer since Robb and Jeyne have booked a room at the hotel, and Sansa tells them not to worry about her, so it's only the pair of them, along with the other guards, who heads home early before the party ended.

Sansa's quiet all the way home, her grip on his hand so tight he thinks she's worried he might disappear. He wants to ask her exactly what happened to make her so rattled but she would've told him if she were ready to disclose that with him.

Jon just doesn't know what to do; he's extremely out of his depth here.

Later, once they're both settled on the bed, the silence looming above them, she makes a request he can at least try to accomplish:

"Make me forget."


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listening to "All Through The Night" by Sleeping At Last helped me write this fic. Have a listen if you want, it sets the mood for... some parts of the chapter...
> 
> :)

**Sansa**

  
Sansa wakes to an empty bed, her hand reaching for Jon on his side until she realizes he's not actually there. She opened her eyes, blinking sleepily as she wondered where he could possibly be.

Usually, when they're back at home, Jon would be downstairs by now to cook breakfast as the only one of them with any useful skill in the kitchen. But they're in Winterfell, which means her mother's doing the cooking, and she's pretty sure her siblings are all still asleep from last night for Jon to be hanging out with them this early.

Before she could worry herself over it though, she sees his note on the side table, and she reaches for it immediately.

  
_Hey San --_

_I had to go run a few errands. I don't know how long it'll take but I promise I'll be back in time for our date._

_I love you._

_\-- Jon_

  
She bites her lips on a smile as soon as she finished reading it, dropping her head back on the pillow, butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach at those three words.

She hasn't felt like this in a long time, all fluffy and bright. Even with her worries simmering just below the surface... it feels as though she could take on all her monsters and come out on top.

 _Make me forget_ , she remembers telling Jon last night. And he hadn't hesitated to do just that.

She remembers him leaning in almost instantly as she'd said the word, his lips gentle against hers.

_He kisses her languidly, like he has all the time in the world to do just that, his hands coming up to caresss her face as he shifted on top of her. It's the first time he's ever asserted any form of control, and it's a welcome one, her mind so suddenly full of him._

_Her arms come up around him almost automatically, pulling his shirt up and off him before she tugs him closer to her, and even closer still._

_He follows her move after a moment, pulling away to get his shirt off her in one quick motion before his lips are back on her, trailing kisses down her jaw, to her neck and even farther down to her chest. She tangles her fingers with his curls encouragingly, eyes shut close to keep the sensation going, urging him to give her something more._

_It doesn't feel like enough somehow, and she tugs on his hair to pull him into a kiss as she tried to chase after something she can't put a name to._

_Hunger, it feels like, but not for something that can be sated._

_She feels his fingers teasing the band of her shorts as they kissed, much more demanding and urgent than how they began. She slides her hand down his arm, and she knows they've never gone farther than this but she doesn't even have to think about it before encouraging him to go on with it. He eases her shorts off her gladly, pressing quick kisses down to her stomach and even farther still._

_"Jon," she gasped out, breathing heavily as she tugged on his hair to make him look at her. "What are you doing?"_

_"Making you forget," he answered, voice low and gruff, his breath hot on her skin. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, making her breath hitch as he sucked on the skin there. "Just tell me if you want me to stop."_

  
A sudden knock on the door cuts off her flow of thoughts, cheeks flushed as though she'd been caught doing something bad. She shakes herself off the daydream and got out of bed, grabbing Jon's discarded shirt on the chair and tugged it on before heading for the door.

"Good morning," she greets her sister with a smile as soon as she sees her. "What's up?"

Arya stares at her in silence, a frown creasing her brows as she contemplated something before finally shaking her head. "I don't want to know," she stated on a sigh, like she's reminding herself of this fact. "Mom asked me to call you for breakfast."

"Okay. You can go ahead. I'll be down in a minute," Sansa chirped

That, apparenlty, breaks Arya's resolve. "Eugh. Seven hells," she muttered, making a face. "Don't be so fucking obvious about it. Just fyi, you're never this _perky_ in the morning. Maybe try to tone it down before you head downstairs? There's a kid present there. And food."

Sansa blinked at her sister innocently, pretending she foesn't understand even as she feels her cheeks heating up. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, sure you don't."

Sansa pressed a hand to her face out of embarrassment. "Oh gods, Arya-- shut up."

Arya smirked and Sansa shook her head, shutting the door close to hide the further reddening of her cheeks.

"I'll be down in a bit," she shouted, hoping that's enough to make her sister leave her alone.

Apparently not.

"Take a cold shower or something," Arya shouts after her, sounding thoroughly amused. "At least Jon did a better job of hiding it."

Sansa snorted as she walked over to her luggage, grabbing a pair of sweats and one of Jon's shirts. "I don't believe that."

"Yeah, you shouldn't. He was worse. Gave himself away." Arya snorted. "He was stuttering."

Sansa laughed at that, opening the door to face Arya now that she's feeling less embarrassed. "At which point are you going to agree that this conversation is awkward?"

"I knew it was awkward since seeing Jon this morning, tbh." Arya leaned on the door frame, not budging as she watched her sister. "Are you happy?"

She wasn't prepared for such a serious question, and usually she would deflect answering, but she takes the time to consider it now. It feels like she shouldn't be happy, not with all the chaos still surrounding her, but Jon has a way of calming the raging storm inside, and the answer comes easy.

"I am."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Arya nodded, taking a moment before flashing her a devious smile. "Now let's pretend I didn't notice your whole after-sex glow."

"Shut up," Sansa said with a surprised laugh, the words automatic.

If Arya still thinks she's being too obvious, she doesn't mention it when Sansa finally comes down for breakfast half an hour later.

  
***

  
Apparently, Sansa's siblings has a mission to keep her busy all day, dragging her into one activity to another without letting her catch a break.

Rickon is the one to start, asking her to watch a movie with him. She was expecting him to play an animated film or something, just something he likes. Instead he plays an old romcom that she'd already seen before.

She's confused at first, until she remembers watching it with Jon some time back and claiming that she'll never get tired watching it. She figures it out then, realizing that Jon must've asked her siblings to keep her busy while he's out, probably so she doesn't lock herself in her room as she definitely would have, had Rickon not approached her with his request.

After lunch, Bran suggests they play board games, and they spend most of the afternoon in the living room, laughing and taunting each other as they would when they were kids.

"I don't like these games," Rickon announced with a huff, arms crossed to his chest. "You're all cheating."

Arya laughed. "No, we're not. You just suck at it."

"Arya," Sansa chastised even as she smiled in amusement. Turning to Rickon, she ruffled his hair fondly. "We've just known the game longer, you'll get better at it when you're older."

Later, her siblings even help her give Ghost a bath at the back of the house -- though, help feels like more credit than they're due. They actually make the task more difficult, stealing the garden hose to splash water on each other and encouraging Ghost to run after them all the way into the woods.

"Is Jon your boyfriend?" Rickon asked her later as she helped him dry off after getting doused in water by Arya. He sounds genuinely curious, asking in that adorable tone that only kids can really pull off.

But she doesn't actually have an answer, so she retorts with a question. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "It's just 'cause you guys are like mom and dad, you keep making out when you think nobody's watching."

Arya choked on her iced tea, coughing from her spot on the veranda. "Rickon, I told you that nosing into other people's business is bad."

Rickon frowned, a cute little crease between his brows as he struggled to understand. "I thought you just said that because I caught you and Gendry kissing in the garage."

It's Sansa's turn to choke on air, eyes wide as she turned to her sister in amusement. "Now who's Gendry?"

"Arya's boyfriend," Rickon readily replied, leaning close to add: "But don't tell her, she doesn't know it yet."

Right on cue, Arya scoffed. "He is not my boyfriend."

Rickon grinned at Sansa conspiratorially "I told you she doesn't know. But my classmate told me that if you kiss someone like that it means you love them."

"Stranger take me," Arya groused, standing from her seat to retreat into the house. "You're so annoying."

Sansa huffs out a laugh at that. It seems her sister's no match to their eight-year-old brother. Who would've thought.

For dinner, her mother offers to teach her how to cook if she helped out in the kitchen, and she takes the offer, realizing the pattern only then.

She thinks through the events of the day, how her entire family had roped her into engaging in activities. How they knew not to force her into it, and only offering suggestions of what they can do to kill time. She snorted in thought, knowing Jon must've had something to do with it.

"We call him the Sansa Whisperer," Arya admits to her with a grin when she'd asked exactly what Jon told them.

Apparently he did ask her siblings to keep her company while he's running his errands and he made them swear not to force her to hang out if she wasn't up to it. "He just told us you'd consider it if we suggested something fun to do because you miss us but you don't know how to say it."

Sansa looked down, a small smile on her face. Maybe he is a Sansa Whisperer.

"Did he tell you where he's going?" She asked, turning to her sister curiously.

Arya shook her head. "He didn't. Just said it's important and it'll take a few hours."

He's been gone all day. She wonders what kind of errand should take him this long to get home. She'd be worried if not for the updates he sends her periodically, despite how vague they are.

Sansa chewed on her lips nervously, wondering what he could be doing. She hopes it's nothing serious; her father has been gone all day too, and she tries not to think of the pair of them hunting Ramsay down in secret or something equally nerve-wracking.

Thankfully, Jon arrives not much longer after her conversation with Arya, but by then her entire family's already asleep and she doubts her parents would let them go on their date this late, even with a few guards along.

She tries to swallow down her disappointment. He did mention to Arya that it was important so maybe it's for work, and it's not like it turned out to be a bad day. She had fun with her family, even though it would've been better if Jon was there too, and besides, they'll have plenty of time to go on dates. It didn't have to be today.

He knocked before he opened the door to their room, peaking his head in. "Hey, are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" She asked, sitting up on the bed. She's in her pajamas reading a book as he waited for him to get home so she's a little confused by his question.

"For our date," he clarified, opening the door wider to reveal a bouquet of Winter roses that he's holding out for her. He shut the door quietly before walking towards her, handing her the flowers. "For you."

She took it gratefully, heart fluttering at how sweet the gesture is. "What do you mean, though? We can't go out now, it's late."

He huffed out a laugh. "Don't tell me you've got an issue with sneaking out now. That's like the most integral part of our date."

A slow grin spreads across her face, understanding coming immediately. This is definitely the kind of date she wants.

She leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before getting off the bed. "Give me a second to change."

 

  
**Jon**

  
Jon's never really been on a date before so he wouldn't know the first thing about impressing Sansa.

He hadn't had a lot of time for romance while he was training, and even less time for it when he got to the Wall. There was a girl at the academy, but it wasn't anything serious. It was just letting off steam, casual stuff.

It's different with Sansa; Jon wants to give her only the best in the world and nothing short of that. He wanted tonight to stand as a promise of it, which is why it's so nerve-wracking, even though she doesn't seem to mind that he's not bringing her somewhere more romantic; that's he's bringing her to the place she'd found as a hiding spot from the people coming after her.

"You're nervous," she notes as they walked the familiar trail to the den. "Why?"

He shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant as he watched Ghost slip in and out of sight ahead of them. "I just want things to turn out well."

She stopped walking, a fond smile on her lips as she tugged him to her. "I'm with you," she pointed out, like it should explain everything. "It's already the best date I've ever been in."

He narrowed his eyes at her, sensing a joke there. "Have you ever even been on a date?"

She laughed, her voice ringing in the woods as they started walking again. "No. I almost had one, though."

"Yeah?" He asked, trying to sound casual about it and not at all jealous of the thought. "What happened? Why is it an almost-date?"

"You know why," she said, instantly making him wince at his own stupidity. Everything in her life that she didn't get to do is because Petyr Baelish decided to abduct her for his own twisted desires. He shouldn't have asked.

Before he could apologize for unintentionally opening the topic, she continued speaking. "His name was Joffrey, a boy from class. He was cute and all the girls fawned over him. He, uh - he asked me out just a week before -- before everything... and... - " she trailed off, thoughtful. "Whenever I think about that, it feels like somebody else's life, you know? It doesn't feel like mine."

He tries to think of how how it could've been for her if she hadn't been taken away from her life. If she'd stayed living in King's Landing all these years, dating the cute boy from high school. Just a normal life. If it meant she'd be safe and happy, he would give everything just so she could have that.

"I'm sorry," he said sadly, rubbing the back of her hand in a bid to comfort her. "I wish you could've had that life instead."

"I don't. You wouldn't have been a part of that life, not like this." She squeezed his hand, turning to him with a soft smile. "You're my silver lining."

He sucked in a deep breath. In that moment he swears to whatver gods that would listen, old or new, that he'd be more than that -- he'll give her back everything life has stolen from her.

Thankfully, the candles he'd set up in the Den hasn't died out when they get there, the flickering yellow light illuminating Sansa's features in a majestic way.

Radiant is the word he can think of to describe her, but breathtaking is what she actually is once her eyes alight on him.

"You did all this?" She asked, astonishment in her voice as she looked over the transformation of the once depressingly empty cave.

It'd taken all day to figure out everything he needed, buy them and then carry them all the way up to mountain to arrage the place. Now it looks like something similar to what you'd find on a magazine or something, like a getaway date spot.

It took hours to get it to this level of romantic atmosphere, but really, the planning was what took most of his time. He didn't know how to do any of this romantic stuff, and the wouldn't have done this well if he hadn't called Gilly for advice.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckes. "I wanted to make it special. I knew this was the closest we could get to being alone."

They sat together on the small area he'd arranged for them to eat, blankets set up over the floor and around the stone enclosing, their food inside a basket he'd brought before fetching her at home.

They play twenty questions while eating because Sansa pointed out that it's weird they know the deepest, darkest parts of each other's life and none of the trivial stuff, like somethig as simple as their favorite color.

"What would you be doing if you didn't sign up to the Academy?" Sansa asked as her final question, watching him curiously.

He leaned back against the stone wall, thinking about her question and his answer seriously.

He'd gone into the Academy because he thought it was the only escape.

His mother had just died a few months after his seventeenth birthday, leaving him feeling lost and alone. It was sickness that took her, but it took its time making its way fully to her.

The doctors told them that she didn't have long to live but also that there were options if they wanted, treatment that they could try, but it would cost a lot of money. His mom refused to let him use his college fund for her treatment but he was relentless, and she couldn't really argue with him in her state. In the end though, it didn't matter that they could pay for treatment. She was gone just shortly after it began.

After that, he became angry, his heart so full of pain and agony that he'd lost purpose. His only family was gone and his life was on its way to a downward spiral, and it was a conversation with Ned Stark that made him think of how his mother would feel if she knew what was happening to him, and that made him get his life back in order.

Some days after that, Jon was handed a leaflet in Wintertown on his way home, it was a recruitment ad for the Academy, and it felt like a sign.

"I don't know. I don't want to think about what kind of person I would've become if I didn't apply to the Academy," he tells Sansa truthfully now, refusing to imagine what would've hapoened to him if he didn't get his life together.

They're quiet for a while after that, then he feels her lean her chin on his shoulder, twining their fingers together.

"I don't want this night to end," she whispers to him, as though saying it too loud might ruin it.

He feels the same. If he could, he'd keep her there forever, shield her from the frightening reality awaiting them outside.  
  
"It doesn't have to end yet," Jon tells her after a moment, tilting sideways so he could kiss her.

The sensation doesn't ever get old, no matter how many times he kisses her. He'd always prided himself in his self-control, in knowing when enough is enough, but Sansa's lips against his is what he assumes addiction feels like, and he just can't make himself stop chasing after the feeling.

"Jon," Sansa whispers his name much later, voice low and raspy, her fingers tangled in his hair as he trailed lazy kisses down her collarbone.

"Hmm?" He pulled away slightly, leaning back to make out her face just slighly in the dark.

The candles he'd bought have long since melted, the only light inside their cave coming from the monlight peeking into the leaves they'd used to camoflauge the entrance.

They've been there a while and he knows they'd have to head back soon before they're caught, but for now he lets them enjoy the short moment they still have left to be alone.

Sansa thumbs at his bottom lip, leaning up to press her mouth against his. "Make love to me," she whispered against his lips, hands coming around his neck to drag him back down on the blanket.

Jon doesn't have to be told twice but still, he has to know it's what she truly wants. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she breathes out, eyes locked on him with certainty. "I want you."

 

***

 

"That was..." Sansa blew out a breath, a small smile on her lips, eyes hazy and unfocused as she came down from the high.

He let out a soft chuckle at her expression, kissing the corner of her lips as he settled down next to her, sweat licking their skin.

"Good?" He finished for her.

"Perfect," she corrects, biting playfully at his wrist just before he manages to wipe away the sheen of sweat forming on her brows. She turns to her side and rested her head on his chest. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for that," he told her, amused. "I like making you feel good."

"Not just for that," she tells him, poking him on the side teasingly. "I meant for everything. Not just for today but also for the last few months. For always being there for me no matter how hard I try to push you away. For being gentle with me. For loving me like this."

He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "You deserve nothing less."

He offers her a small smile, one she returns easily, and he thinks nothing could ruin that moment until he hears Ghost's low, ominous howl emanating into their cave, the sound too loud in the silence of the night.

He sat up suddenly, hoping he'd heard wrong. Ghost doesn't howl, doesn't even bark, not unless...

"Was that Ghost?" Sansa asked curiously, unaware of his sudden fear as she sat up next to him.

"It's a warning," he answered, moving to grab their clothes and handing it to her. "Something's wrong."


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for guns and violence

**Arya**

  
It's three in the morning when Rickon quietly slipped into Arya's room, the light from the hall peeking into her dark room as he entered.

She'd just gotten back home after sneaking out to catch Gendry's band play at the bar, having snuck out as soon as her talk with Sansa ended.

"Hey Rick, why are you still awake?" She asked, sitting on the corner of her bed as she took off her jacket.

She doesn't really have to ask, though. It has become a habit for her littlest brother to sneak into their rooms late into the night when he can't sleep. He's too wild and has an overactive imagination, making it difficult for him to fall asleep at times. Usually, when this happens, he'd go over to Bran's room, but it isn't unusual for him to come to Arya's, either.

"There's someone downstairs," he whispered quietly, a nervous tone in his voice. "Did you hear?"

She frowned. He should be used to this by now. "It's probably just Jon and Sansa, you know how they are," she reassured as her little brother came to approach her, leaving the door open behind him. "They like to sneak out and pretend they're so clever. Don't worry about it, go back to bed."

He shook his head. "No, it's not them. It's just one person and they went to the basement."

As if on cue, the dim light on the hall turns off and the audible thrum of her AC goes quiet. She sat up, feeling a chill run down her spine as the entire house falls silent in the dark of the night.

She turned to her little brother. "Rick, what did you see?"

"I was just going to sneak down and watch TV but someone came in and I thought it was Jon and Sansa so I hid but it wasn't." He swallowed nervously, looking at Arya in fear. "I only saw them go to the basement and then I came straight here."

It couldn't be a guard, she thinks immediately. They don't usually come in here unless it's an emergency and the basement wouldn't be the first place they go to.

Suddenly, the complete silence is disrupted by multiple gunshots being fired in multiple different directions, making Rickon jump and whimper in fear.

Her brother's reaction startles Arya into action, taking his hand immediately. "Come on, we have to get Bran," she said, and dragged Rick along into the room nearest the stairs where their brother would be.

She can feel her heart hammering as they went, her mind trying to come up with a solution that just won't come to her.

Bran's already awake when they get to his room, struggling to get into his chair. Arya moves to help him, though she's not entirely sure what to do after that. Where do they even go? If somebody's already in the house then it'll be difficult to get the boys somewhere safe. Carrying Bran anywhere would be hard, Arya's not strong enough for that, and --

Her father bursts into the room suddenly, breathing a sigh of relief to find the three of them there.

"Go to the Attic," he instructs, taking Bran in his arms hurriedly as Arya moved to grab Rickon and moved up.

When they get to the fourth, she sees her dad glance at the hall, probably thinking of Sansa, and she grabs his arm to spur him to move.

"They're not here, I saw them leave earlier," she says quickly, pushing Rickon to urge him up as he shook in fear. "I'll call to check on them as soon as we're safe."

The attic is old and dusty, full of stuff from their childhood they no longer use. None of them has been there in years and it shows. Her dad urges them to hide in the farthest corner, behind boxes and old cabinets they'd put up there.

"I'll come back as soon as it's safe. You three stay here until I tell you to come down. Understood?" They all say a hushed affirmation and her father turns to her with a meaningful look. "Watch over your brothers."

She nodded and watched as he left, moving boxes along the way to further conceal them.

"I'm scared," Rickon whispered in the silence, the little boy shaking next to her, and all she could do is pull him into a hug for reassurance.

They're not nearly prepared for this as they should've been, always counting on the guards and their walls as enough protection. They should've known better, prepared better.

It's then that Arya thinks of how many times she'd snuck out, how she'd enjoyed finding creative ways to outsmart the guards so she could come in and out of the house undetected.

That tree near the woods she climbs to jump over the wall with a rope and scale her way down outside, the tunnel in the crypts she'd caught Jon and Robb sneak out of countless of times, bribing the guards to let her out for a couple of hours, and so many more ways she's found over the years to sneak out. It made her feel very clever then but now it only makes her feel reckless.

She'd been so amused about it then; she always laughed at how amazed Gendry found it that she could sneak out of the oldest, most-guarded place in Winterfell, and she would tell him that, "it's no big deal."

She wonders if this is her fault, if someone had been watching her sneak in and out as she always does, and realized how easy it would be for them to do the same. She thinks of how simple it had been so far for dangerous men to come into their house, how it took only one man to get in and shut the power down, including all working cameras around the premises, to blind them from an attack.

And she realizes how irresponsible it had been to keep her clever little secrets instead of helping her parents make sure their house is the safest it can be.

In that moment, the loud bangs of guns getting fired lessens one by one until it's the silence they now have to fear. If they make one wrong move in there, something could drop and they'd be found out.

She fished her phone out of her pocket, remembering what she'd told her dad and typed in a quick text to Robb. _Call for help. Men in the house. Dead guards._

She doesn't actually know if that's the case but it's better than downplaying what's happened. Next, she dials Sansa's number, chewing on her lip as she silently urged her sister to pick up.

She sucks in a deep breath as soon as her call goes through. "Are you safe?"

She hears Sansa release a sharp breath on the line. "I am. You? The boys? Mom and dad? We heard gunshots, Jon's on his way to you now and he already called for help." Sansa informed her quickly, worry clear in her voice. "Arya, tell me what's happening."

They must be close by if they already know something bad is happening but hopefully they're far enough that they're safe.

"I don't know what's going on yet but we're safe for now," she replied hurriedly in a hushed tone, trying to keep an ear out for any movement from a distance. "I'm with the boys, we're in the attic. I don't know where mom and dad are but Rickon said he saw someone come into the basement. They shut the power off and then guns were fired soon after that."

"Shit. Arya, I'm so sorry, this is my fault. It's Ramsay. He's - "

"San, shut up. This isn't your fault. We'll be fine, dad's -- We'll get through this. Just stay where you are, promise me. They're after you so you have to stay safe and - "

Sansa cuts her off. "I love you. Okay? I don't think I tell you that often enough but I do and I'm so sorry for this and I'm sorry for not trying harder in the past year." She hears her sister let out a sob which urges her own tears to come rolling down. "I wish I could've made more effort, spent more time with you guys like we have this past few days but I promise I'll make this better. I swear it, Arya. I'll end this. Tell the boys I love them, too. And to mom and dad. Stay safe. This will be over soon."

The line is cut immediately after that and Arya cursed. "Fuck. Shit, no. Damn it, San," she says, trying to dial her sister's number again.

It's pointless, the call directs her to voicemail each time after that so her sister must've shut her phone off. She wipes away the tears and tried to ignore the boy's questioning looks, unsure what to tell them.

She thinks of calling Jon for a second so he can maybe stop whatever her sister's thinking of doing but Sansa said he's on the way to them and Arya doesn't want to risk calling in case he's already there and didn't have his phone on silent.

Gunshots are fired again and this time it's close. She thinks it came from inside the house, startling both her and her brothers.

"It's okay, it'll all be okay," she lied, not believing it herself. "Just shut your eyes and think of something else. Something happy."

She watched them do as told and she sees her phone light up with a text from Robb. He's still in Wintertown with Jeyne, staying for two more days, same with Jon and Sansa.

The whole family was supposed to have dinner tomorrow, complete and safe and happy for the first time in years, and this is what they get instead.

 **Robb**  
Arya is everyone okay?  
Whats happening  
Jory just called me  
Im omw with the police  
Please tell me youre okay  
Please  
Arya  
Please respond  
Jon and sansa cant be reached either  
We dont know whats happening out there  
Please be safe  
Please

 **Arya**  
Okay for now  
We're hiding  
But theyre in the house robb  
Please tell help to come soon  
I cant reply anymore im turning off my phone just to be safe  
Please hurry

  
She tucked her phone back into her pocket, turning to her little brothers. "Help is on the way, just hold tight," she informed them, glancing at the entrance. "You guys stay here and be quiet, I'll try to see what's happening. I can maybe check how many people there and tell Robb so they're prepared."

Bran took her hand before she could leave, holding her with a firm grip. "No, you have to stay here," he said pleadingly. "I can't protect Rickon if anyone - "

"You'll be fine. Both of you. I'll set up boobytraps along the way to make sure no -- "

"Don't be crazy. They'll know we're here if you do that."

"Fine, then just stay quiet and I'll be back soon."

She doesn't let him argue, shifting Rickon to Bran's arm before she made her way downstairs quietly, careful of avoiding the creaky floorboards as she went.

She hears voices the farther down she gets, and a woman wailing that she belatedly realized is her mother, but the top floors are suspiciously quiet.

She's back on the third floor when someone slips a hand around her neck and covers her mouth, and she instantly struggles to get free on instinct.

"It's me," a familiar voice whispered to her. "Be quiet."

Jon pushed her quietly against a nook on the hallway before settling in front of her, effectively keeping the both of them hidden. That's when she hears the footsteps. It's slow and heavy, and every so often she hears doors creaking open before the footsteps disappear into a room and back again.

It's probably only minutes but it feels like decades before whoever it is reached them, unaware that they're even there. Jon doesn't waste a second before moving to grab the man like he did Arya, except his arms are wrapped so tightly around the man's neck as he struggles for awhile until he just suddenly stopped flailing around.

"Is he dead?" Arya asked on a whisper, unfeeling.

"No," Jon replied, gruff and breathless from what he did. "Just knocked out."

He carries the man on his back, nodding to Arya to follow him into Sansa's old room, the door the man had just opened.

"How did you get in here?" She asked immediately as she watched Jon drop the man inside Sansa's walk-in closet before grabbing scarves to tie it around the man's legs. "How many are they?"

"I scaled the side of the wall to Robb's room," he answered simply, and she almost made a comment of how useful their old tricks are until she remembers the horrible circumstances they're in.

She also notices the question he'd willfully ignored. "How many are they, Jon?" She repeats, watching him intently.

He paused from what he's doing, running a hand through his hair. "Too many." He shook his head. "Thirty men, at least. They have the whole house surrounded. There's probably around seven people each gate, escape cars right outside. I don't even know how many there are in here, I've taken down four so far."

Arya waits until Jon's covered the unconscious man's mouth before speaking. "How are we gonna get through this, Jon?"

Jon stood up, staring her right in the eye. "Let me worry about that. You, go hide. Your brothers?"

"Hiding."

"Go with them."

"No," she said defiantly. "You just said there's too many of them. You need me and I'm not leaving you."

Jon huffed impatiently, rubbing his forehead as though a headache is only just about to come. "You're exactly like your sister," he said, and it reminds her immediately of Sansa.

"Sansa. Jon, I think she's going to do something stupid." He turns to her in confusion and she goes on. "I called her and she told me something about making things better. She was rambling, telling me she's sorry and - she, Jon - I think she was saying goodbye - "

"Fuck, she's going to give herself up," he said instantly, looking as though he doesn't need any more convincing. "I told her to stay put and wait for me. Stubborn, stubborn girl."

He cursed again and looked around the room wildly, as though he's in search of something. Arya watched him walk to Sansa's dresser and go through her sister's old stuff.

"What are you doing?" She asked, heading over to him.

Jon found Sansa's sewing kit and grabbed a razor there, wrapping tissue around it, then he moved to grab a few pieces of hairpins before taking off his shoes. Arya watches all this with a frown and it only deepens as he put the items inside his socks before he tugs his shoes back on.

"What's that for?"

"Backup," he replied simply before reaching for a scrap of receipt he sees on the desk and a pencil to scribble something down.

Once he's finished, he looked back at Arya seriously. "If you really want to help, you're going to do exactly as I say." He took his phone from his pocket and winced before tucking it back in. "My battery's about to die, give me your phone."

She does as instructed and she's about to ask why when he slipped her phone inside his pants and underwear.

She made a face and that earns her a quiet, involuntaryhuff of laughter from Jon before he hands her the receipt. "Go back to Bran and Rickon but as soon as all this is over, call this number. He's a buddy of mine. Tell him what happened and give him your number. Tell him I said to track it."

She looked at Jon. "What are you going to do?"

Jon ruffled her hair. "Don't worry about it. Just promise me you'll do as I say. The only way this will work is if you do."

She's about to tell him that there's no way in hell she's going to leave him -- but it's Jon and he's asking her to do something important and she can't disappoint him.

"I promise."

"Okay. Good. Go find your brothers, they're probably scared. They need you." And before she leaves, he hands her a gun. "I don't want you using it, Arya. Not unless it's the last option. If you fire, they're going to know where you are and I don't want that."

"Okay. I won't use it unless absolutely necessary." She looked at him one last time and jumped into him for a hug. "Stay safe, Jon."

He gives her an unconvincing smile. "I'll try. You do the same."

 

 

**Sansa**

  
Sansa chewed on her thumb nervously as she sat atop a tree, watching her home from a distance.

She's on the tree Jon picked out for her all those months ago; the thick branches are perfect to keep her concealed but she's still on a high enough vantage point to see what's going on.

Sitting there reminds her of months and months in these woods trying to find an escape. Somehow she'd convinced herself that she'd be able to run and hide, thinking only of herself, if Ramsay ever came after her, as though that's all it would take.

Now, Sansa realizes the reality of it. If she'd been at home when Ramsay's men came, she wouldn't have considered leaving. She would've taken one look at everyone she loves and gave herself up immediately, no question about it.

Taking a deep breath, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and dialed their landline. She hopes the plan would work, it's the only way she can think of to keep her family safe.

No more hiding.

It takes a couple of rings before anyone answers and she immediately registers the playful voice as Ramsay's. "Stark residence, how may I help you?"

She swallowed, shutting her eyes to summon a calm that won't come.

"Ramsay. It's me."

"Ah, sweet Sansa. You're missing quite an event. I was just asking your father where I might find you and he doesn't seem to know." She hears him fire his gun both on the the phone and from where she's sitting. "That's him getting shot on the leg. If You don't tell me where you are, the next one goes through his head."

She glared at nothing in particular, imagining her hand around Ramsay's neck. "If you do that, I swear to all the gods I will kill you."

"Do I hear a challenge?"

"No. Don't." She inhaled. "Let them go, Ramsay. I'll come with you if you do."

He sighed dramatically, pretending to think about it. "You know I don't make negotiations but... alright. I promise your _family_ will be left alone if you tell me where you are." Just then the police sirens start ringing which is why she'd waited this long to call. "Tick tock, Sansa, or I might just decide to kill everyone you love instead."

It's a gamble, she knows, but she has to try. He may be a psychopath but he's not an idiot. He wouldn't kill her family unless he wanted the whole of Westeros to be looking for him.

In his own sick way, he knows the distinction between what's fun and what's stupid, and she's counting on that to be true.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she's about to say. "I'll be at the East Gate. If you want me, come and get me."


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shorter than I planned but, anyway... here it is.

  
**Ramsay**

  
Ramsay had been intrigued about Sansa Stark from the first moment he laid eyes on her. She's beautiful, he'd give her that. With her pretty red hair and pretty smile. Sweet, too, and very polite. But he has no care for those things. There's something about her, though. Something in her eyes that spoke of so much strength and resilience -- and he wanted, more than anything else, to be the one to break it.

Some men enjoys throwing punches or shooting guns but he finds that there's something much more exciting about breaking a person's character; seeing their eyes lose that shine in them, watching as they fall apart.

As expected, Sansa's very tough to crack -- but that'd been part of the fun. And even after what she'd done to him, costing him his business, his men, and even letting him rot in jail, he'd still been fascinated.

No matter what he did to break her, there's just something in her that keeps pushing back.

He turns to her now, pulling his attention from the road as their car sped through to look at her. "It's a shame, you know. I had plans for you."

She gives him a fearsome glare but it only makes hin smile. "That little look would have been more effective if you weren't bound." He sighed deeply. "As I was saying, I really was hoping we'd be able to spend time together. Like old times. You used to love my games, remember?" He teases, smiling brightly at her before he lets it fall. "Unfortunately, someone's willing to pay a fortune in exchange for you. And after your neat little trick last year I'm in dire need of it."

She doesn't answer, of course. Not with her mouth tied to keep her from speaking.

"We're being followed," Harald interrupts, glancing at the rearview mirror.

They were careful of the route they'd taken, Ramsay's sure of it. They've travelled in four separate cars, three of which is still giving chase to the police in order to mislead them. It's a carefully orchestrated plan he was sure they'd easily accomolish, yet someone still managed to trail them.

 _Good_.

Ramsay lets a smirk grace his lips, turning back to Sansa. "You know who that must be, don't you?" His smile only grows when her eyes darken. He doesn't need to hear her speak, the sudden flash of fear in her eyes is enough answer for him.

"Oh, yes... I know all about your man, Jon Snow. He applied to the academy at seventeen and was a beloved friend to the Starks before then. A man of the Night's Watch, a decorated war hero." He laughed, humorless. "I hear you care for him very much. With you off to somewhere else, he'd be a fine replacement for you, don't you think? He sounds very tempting to break." He pretends to think about it. "Of course, someone already asked me to kill him but... well, what fun would that be?"

He turned to the driver as though he'd only just decided on something even though this was always part of the plan. "Give him a hard time, Har, but make sure he follows. I'd love to see where this goes."

The drive to the Twins takes them about two hours to complete without break and Jon Snow trails after them without fail.

"He's not very bright, is he?" Ramsay asked with a laugh as he turned to see the black sedan still tight on their tail. "Or did he actually think we won't notice him driving behind us?"

Sansa doesn't look at him, has no more reactions left to give. Halfway through the ride, she'd resolved to ignore him and had kept her eyes on the road ever since. It's quite funny and he wonders what goes on through that head of hers. He never could crack it.

It really is a shame that he'd have to give her up. She's his most favortie toy.

"Take care of the man," he instructs his boys when they arrive at the tower, dragging Sansa out of the car forcibly. He makes a show of it, just in case the soldier is watching them. "Fetch him for me, please. Do as you must, roughen him up or whatever but keep him alive. I need a new toy and I think he'll be perfect for it."

His men smirks to themselves, fully aware of what that means. Mostly though, he watches Sansa, watches as her face hardens into something he can't read. Littlefinger is right, she must really like this Jon Snow.

If so, this will definitely be _fun_.

 

**Sansa**

  
Sansa's thrown into a darkened room as soon as they get to whereever the hell they are. She'd done as Jon taught her, took note of every turn and tried to figure out an estimated time of travel. She'd even watched the road as they drove into the night -- yet she still doesn't know where they are.

They're somewhere South of Winterfell, she knows that much. And she thinks their travel is shorter compared to the drive to Riverrun, though that could just be because it's in the middle of the night and there's not much traffic on the road.

It's hot and humid and if she shuts her eyes the sound of the trees swaying against each other almost sounds peaceful. It only lasts for a moment, though, because she remembers that Jon's somewhere out there, risking his life for her.

She lets out a strangled cry of fear and frustration, the sound muffled by the cloth around her mouth. The tears fall freely down her cheeks now that Ramsay isn't there to find amusement in it, her heart breaking in her chest.

 _Stupid, stupid boy_ , she thinks, her mind on Jon. She'd told him more than once that having him anywhere near Ramsay is the one thing she can't deal with and he still didn't listen.

Somewhere outside she hears a gunshot. Once, twice, more times that she cares to count -- she can't help but flinch each time she hears it, the image of Jon falling to the ground with his own blood pooling around him, flashing in her mind each time.

It's only minutes before the noise stops and the silence that follows feels more nerve-wracking than the loud noise.

She shuts her eyes, trying to make out any sound at all to try and figure out what's happening. She doesn't hear anything, not until the knob of her door is twisted open before the guards come in.

They're carrying Jon by the arms, evidently unconscious, and she shrieks when they throw him to the floor.

They come in to inspect his person, patting his jeans and taking whatever they find; they take his watch, his pocket knife, his phone, his other knife tucked into his boots and the gun strapped to his ankle holster.

Once Ramsay's men shuts the door behind hem she crawled over to him as quickly as she could, struggling from the metal that binds her hands and feet.

 _Jon_ , she tries to call out, but only a muffled noise comes out.

It makes her cry even more, struggling to reach for him with her arms tied to her back. He's unconscious, his face bruised and bloody, but she's glad to see he hadn't been shot anywhere.

She leaned forward, dropping her head to his chest as she continued to cry. _Jon, Jon, Jon..._ she calls for him in her mind, begging him to answer. For him to wake up at her silent plea.

He doesn't, but she feels his heartbeat against her cheek and it brings her some relief. Some, because she'd seen people die from something less. His face looks rough, he could've taken a hard hit to the head and that could --

She shakes off the thought before it can fester in her mind and she shifts to burrow her face on the crook of his neck as she cried.

 

**Jon**

  
Jon's dreams never make any sense but at the same time, he knows exactly what it's supposed to mean.

It's different everytime, of course, but it plays around the same theme; his guilt and fears combined with vague recallings of horrors he'd faced, all of it coming to haunt him the moment he shuts his eyes.

This time isn't any different; he dreams of fire burning down houses around him while snow falls lazily in the dark sky. He dreams of his brothers, stabbing him in the stomach as they chanted 'traitor'. He dreams of his mother and that sad smile, the only kind she could muster in her last moments. He dreams of Qhorin, Mance, Tormund, Beric, Thoros -- all the men who'd died defending the wall from forces they couldn't control.

And the most recent addition, he dreams of Sansa. Of losing her. It never happens the same way but each time he's always bound by something, unable to free himself and incabable of reaching her. He always has to watch her die.

His deepest fear.

When he comes to, the first thing he feels is a warm body snug against him, and he only has to turn his head a little to see Sansa. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her and he reaches for the tie around her mouth to tug it off.

She flinches at the contact, waking up from her sleep, but she visibly relaxes when she realizes that it's him and lets him tug the tie off her.

"Hey, love," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You're okay."

"You stupid idiot," is the first thing she says to him, her voice dripping with anger before it falters into a sob. "Why would you - Jon, I told you - " She cried, dropping her head to his chest. "You shouldn't be here."

"Hey, enough now. I'm already here, you can't change it," he tells her, knowing he won't apologize for chasing after her.

They sat up, and it's the first time he notices that her arms are tied together, as well as her legs. He keeps himself from making a face as he moves, pushing away the pain in his head as he reached for her.

"Hey, come here," he tells her, reaching to untie her legs from the rope around it before moving to check her wrist.

He winces when he sees the redness on her skin. He takes off his shoes without looking, fishing for the hairpin he'd taken from the house and picked the lock to free her from the metal binding her hands.

Her arms come up around him as soon as they're free and he gives her a moment before pulling away. He pressed kisses to her wrist, trying to make it better somehow.

"You'll be okay now," he says against her skin. "I promise."

His words wrangles a sob out of her, her hands coming up to tangle with his curls as she pulled him into a desperate kiss.

"Jon, I need you to be safe," she says against his lips. "That's what I want you promise me. That's what I need to hear."

He kisses her again, unsure if he could make that promise. He'll make sure she survives this, that's for definite, but he can't say what it'll mean for him.

Suddenly, the door to the room opens, making them pull apart in surprise. "Ah, young love. What a sight to see," Ramsay said with an amused smirk as he entered the room. "Please, do go on. Don't let me stop you."

Jon feels his anger clawing its way up inside him and it takes a lot of effort not to try and strangle him from where he's standing.

He's at a disadvantage after all; Ramsay's men is standing right behind him and he's holding a gun. Low caliber from what Jon can tell, but no less lethal.

When Jon stands up from the floor, he tugs Sansa behind him protectively, trying to stay vigilant from whatever Ramsay might do.

He takes the time to study the man now; most of what he knows about him comes from his file and so far it's been accurate. He's smart, playful, and calculating, but at the same there's something else to him too.

It's all in the eyes, old Aemon used to say during their training. Telling them that they can see what a man is made of from just the look in their eyes.

When he looks at Ramsay's eyes now, he sees the chaos simmering just underneath.

He laughed all of a sudden and Jon can't tell what's actually funny. "Where are my manners, skipping introductions. My name is Ramsay Bolton, as I'm sure you know, and you must be Jon Snow. I've heard so much about you. I apologize for that, by the way," he waves towards Jon's wounded face, completely unapologetic. "I must say, my men could've done worse. A friend wanted you dead."

"What friend?" He asked, gruff.

Ramsay smirked. "It's for me to know, Jon Snow. Oh, and Sansa, of course. Have you two said your goodbyes?" Something in Jon's face must've shown his confusion because the guy's face lights up. "Oh, she hasn't told you? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but this little set up is temporary. See, Sansa here has an admirer. I hear there's a few but the one I'm talking about is willing to pay a large sum for her, so... as soon I receive the money, she's gone."

Jon turns to Sansa with a frown and though her face betrays nothing he can tell that something's wrong.

"As soon as I'm gone, I'm coming after you," she announced, each word a warning. It makes Jon stiffen in surprise. She's up to something and he's not sure it's safe. "The moment you hand me to Littlefinger, I'll make sure you're a dead man."

Ramsay's eyes narrows at her, that playful smirk firmly planted on his face. "Careful Sansa, it almost sounds like you want me to keep you here. You might regret it."

"I'm not trying to make you do anything, I'm just telling you what I'll do as soon as I'm free of you." She steps out from behind Jon, staring Ramsay in the eye. "I will be free of you, won't I? Once Littlefinger gets me, you can't touch me."

There's something dangerous that glints in Ramsay's eyes, carefully hidden behind his plastic smile. "And what makes you think Littlefinger would allow that?"

Sansa lets out a laugh, Jon can tell it's fake but it seems convincing enough to Ramsay. "Why wouldn't he? Littlefinger would have no need of you as soon as he gets me. You'd done his dirty work for him, you know too much -- you're a liability. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me taking care of this little problem for him."

Jon can tell that Ramsay's mulling her words over, thinking if there's any truth to them. For his part, Jon keeps silent even though he would like for Sansa to stop taunting the mad dog.

It takes a moment to follow their conversation, trying to fill in the gaps, but Jon's sure she'd made it worse as soon as Ramsay speaks.

"Good news, you've convinced me. I've decided that you'll both be staying here and when I come back we'll play a little game." Ramsay announced, his tone bright and cheerful. "It's quite a simple game, you either win or you die."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how this chapter turned out but I'm hoping you guys enjoyed it. I apologize if there's more errors than usual but that's probably bc I haven't slept yet. (I re-wrote this a lot of times but only just decided to edit it out now while rendering a video assignment for later.)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter goes out to deedsreads03, vivilove and tubbylita. :D

**Sansa**

  
Sansa waits a few minutes after Ramsay's left the room before she turns to Jon, wide eyed and worry clear in her face.

Taunting a mad dog like Ramsay is never a good idea but she's not sure there was anything else to do. Judging from Jon's expression, he agrees it was a bad idea, and she feels the need to explain.

"I needed him to be alert," she explained, hoping she'd done enough to accomplish that goal.

It wasn't like she was lying; getting rid of him is exactly what Petyr would do. In fact, that's what she asked him to do. She'd called Petyr before giving herself up, trying to make sure that Ramsay doesn't survive this time.

Petyr had been all too willing, as she expected, and had promised that his men will come for her immediately without much prompting. The cost of it didn't have to be discussed, she knows what he wants.

No matter how terrible, it's better than leaving her fate up to Ramsay. At least she knows how to play Littlefinger.

But then Jon came for her and she knew she couldn't let Petyr's men anywhere near him. They'd want him dead just as much as Ramsay. Not because he's a loose thread, but because Sansa loves him.

Petyr doesn't like to share.

So a diversion is the best option; let Baelish's and Ramsay's men thin each other out. And maybe that could be enough for them to survive.

She notices Jon's expression turning dark as she tells him all this; his hands clenched into a fist, his body stiff and his face hard and unreadable.

"Okay, then. What do you suggest we do now?"

There's something in his tone, something she can't read. It confuses her; Jon's never been difficult to read, but she can't put a finger on it now.

She shakes the thought away, trying to focus. There's no time to overthink these things now. "We play the game, buy our time. We stay inside until it's safe, maybe find a way to call for help."

"And what about Ramsay?"

"He'll be outside for the Hunt. That's how the game is played; we try to get out, he chases after us."

"So -- what? We just stay here and wait until the game begins?"

She shook her head. "It's already begun." She pointed to the door. "See for yourself."

He does, walking towards the door apprehensively. He puts his ear against it for a moment, trying to listen in, before he twists the knob and the door opened.

As she expected, no one's standing guard outside. Jon, to her confusion, kneels to the floor, and she has to walk closer to see that there's a gun right on the floor.

"Did he leave you guns, too?" He asked.

"No," she breathes out.

Ramsay knew it would defeat the purpose of the game; he knew she would've used it on herself.

Jon grabbed it and checked for bullets, before handing her a piece of paper.

Come and see, soldier. May your aim be straight and true.

"What does he mean?" It's her turn to ask.

"Only one bullet," he answers readily as he checked the gun. "You should stay here, you'll be sa - "

She's shaking her head before he can finish, glaring defiantly. "No. I'm coming with you."

"Sansa," He huffs out in frustration, shakong his head.

She shakes her head even more. "Jon, I'm not losing you."

"Will you just -- for once, will you trust me?"

She blinks back in surprise. "Of course I trust you. That's not what - "

"And yet at the first sign of trouble, you call Petyr Baelish? No matter how much you keep saying you don't trust him, you still went to him for help." The admission comes out as a surprise, even to him. It's obvious with how he has to shake himself before he keeps going. "Did it ever occur to you to run to me instead? That I could've had a plan too?"

"That's not fair, Jon. That's not what this is." She shakes her head, walking towards him. "I keep teling you that I can't lose you, and that means I can't risk putting your life in danger. I don't trust Baelish, I just know that I can use him."

"At what cost? Your life? Does it mean that little to you?" He scowled. "Don't you care about the rest of us? Do you think we'd be fine if you just disappeared all over again? -- I don't think you realize but I can't lose you either, Sansa, and it's unfair of you to expect me to just go along with it."

 

**Robb**

  
Robb stared at the cup of coffee in his hands blankly, still unable to wrap his mind around everything that had just happened.

Somehow, in a span of an hour his father was shot, his sister went missing - again, because this had happened once before - their house was burned down, Bran, Arya, and Rick's getting checked for smoke inhalation, and their mother's still shock for witnessing all of it.

Robb let out a deep breath, rubbing the sleep off his eyes as he stared at the door of the operating room.

It's been hours since they last heard anything from the doctors; last he's been told is that getting the bullet out of hid dad's leg would be a delicate procedure and that it could be hours more before they hear anything else.

The worry feels familiar but no less daunting. He wishes he knew what else he could do. Yet he's stuck here, sitting around and waiting -- for news of his father, for news of his siblings' test results, for news of Sansa.

Jory taps him on the back, making him turn to his father's oldest friend and most trusted employee.

"Go check on your siblings," he urged. "I'll stay here and call you if anything comes up."

Robb looked back at the door, apprehensive, before nodding. He leaves the cup of coffee on his seat, still untouched, and headed to Rickon's room first.

"How is he?" He asked when he gets there, sitting next to Jeyne on the couch.

She pulls him into her embrace and planted a kiss to his temple. "Doctor says he seems okay, but they're keeping him overnight to be sure. How are you?"

He sighed and burrowed his face on the crook of her neck, letting her warmth bring him some comfort. "Exhausted. Scared. Helpless."

It's similar to how she first met him; the law student who moved into Barrowton with what seemed like the weight of the world on his shoulder.

They stay like that for a while, giving Robb a moment of peace and quiet in a sea of chaos.

Next, he goes to Bran to check both on his brother and mother.

Bran's asleep when Robb gets to his room, an oxygen mask covering half his face to help him breathe.

He leans down to press a koss to his brother's forehead. "Sorry I didn't get there quick enough. But please get better, okay?"

He stays there for a moment longer before he turns to his mother, sitting on the stool with a blank expression on her face.

She's in shock, the doctors had said, but she refused to get any treatment until her children are all safe and well.

He swallowed hard, kneeling right in front of her. "Hey mom. Can I get you anything?"

She turns her attention to him after a beat, as though only realizing that he's there. "I'm alright. I'll just be here until Bran wakes up."

He nodded. "Well, if you need anything, Brienne's just right out the door."

He goes to check on Arya after that, leaving his sister for last because he knows she'll be the one with the questions. He finds her sitting on her hospital bed as she stared at a phone in front of her.

Her friends, Gendry and Hotpie, are there too. Sitting on the couch as they stared worriedly at her.

They'd introduced themselves to Robb earlier when they got to the hospital asking for Arya, and he'd let them come in as soon as she woke up to keep her company.

Gendry's the first to see him come into the room, tapping his friend on the arm. "We're uh - we're just going to get some food at the cafeteria. Arya, you want anything?" Arya shook her head, eyes not leaving the phone. "Okay, well... we're gonna get you a sandwich, just in case."

Robb gives them a tired smile as they made their way out and waits for a minute before walking over to the stool by Arya's bed.

"Any news on Sansa?" Is the first thing she asks, to which he shakes his head gravely.

Nothing's changed since the last update he'd given her. Jory's still in contact with President's Stannis' men, as far as Robb knows, but there's still no progress made on locking in Bolton's location.

They've managed to capture a few of Bolton's men during the initial chase after they set Winterfell on fire, but none of the men would give Ramsay up. It was all a diversion.

"Did you know?" Robb asked. "About Ramsay's escape?"

It's been all over the news in the last couple of hours, alerting people of Ramsay Bolton and asking for any information anyone might have on his whereabouts. They're probably also rehashing what had happened at Winterfell and of his sister's abduction for a second time, but Robb hadn't checked to confirm it.

The reports he did see make it sound so recent, like Ramsay had just gotten out from prison and went right after Sansa. But from what he's gathered from Jory, this had been going on a while. Apparently, the President put a lid on the news to avoid mass panic and to keep public trust, he'd even made his father sign an NDA before pulling him into the tactical operation.

Arya shook her head. "No, I didn't. I think Jon did, though."

"Yeah, I figured. That must've been the reason why dad got him into Sansa's security detail." Robb sighed. "He's still in surgery, you know. The doctors say they might not be able to remove the bullet in his leg, says it might just cause more damage." He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, trying to keep his composure through all of this. "And Bran hasn't woken up yet."

"It could've been worse if you hadn't come when you did," Arya said, as though she could read the guilt plainly on his face.

If he'd been there earlier, if he'd stayed at the estate like his mother offered in the first place, then maybe he could've done more. But he was stubborn, he'd refused to the offer so he could show his father that he is and will continue to be his own man.

Robb doesn't even remember how his relationship with his father had gotten this frustrating. The man was his idol, he'd looked up to him and hoped he'd be just like his dad when he grew up. And then Sansa went missing and their world came crumbling down.

It's not even as though his dad did anything wrong. They were all trying their best at that time, it was just anger building up inside him that he could only take out on his father. It was easier after all; Ned Stark was supposedly most powerful man in Westeros, he's the one person who's supposed to be able to find his sister, and he couldn't.

And things just went downhill from there - Robb moved away to Barrowton for law school, digging up what he could to try and find Sansa and never getting antwhere, and suddenly three years have passed, his sister has returned, and some part of him is still angry.

He shook his head. "If I'd just agreed to stay at the house - "

"If you were at the house you wouldn't have been able to rescue us," Arya said. "They would've shot you like they did everyone else, like they did to dad. Jeyne would've been up there hiding with us and no one would've gotten to us in time. You were right where you're supposed to be."

He let out a breath, smiling sadly at Arya. "When did you get all this wisdom?"  
  
They sit there in silence for a while, trying to take in everything that's happened so far. Then, suddenly, the phone in front of Arya starts to ring.

She picks it up immediately. "Sam?" She turns to Robb and whispered. "Jon's friend."

He frowned, confused and watched Arya as she dropped the phone back on the bed. "Sam, you're on speaker, my brother, Robb's, listening, too."

"Oh. Okay. Hi," he cleared his throat. "I - uh - I managed to trace your phone a while ago but I couldn't get in contact with Jon before his signal went out." He paused. "They probably have a signal jammer where they are but don't worry, I managed to get a rough idea of where they could be. It's why I called, actually."

"Okay?" Arya said, tentative. "Where?"

"I was able to track the signal as far as Moat Cailin before the feed went out. Based on what we know of Ramsay's usual MO, he would choose somewhere remote, isolatated from civilization, and privately owned."

"And where is that?"

"The Twins. Which means -" Robb made a face, fully aware of what it means.

"Which means trouble." He finished the sentence before turning to Arya with a frown. "It's Frey land. That area's infested with criminals, even the police force is deep under the Freys' pockets - if they're there, Jon and Sansa won't find help unless it comes for them."

"But - why would they be there? What does the Frey have to do with anything?"

"Mutual gain? The Freys' have always disliked us, old family dispute that has run deep for generations. It didn't get any better when dad managed to throw half their family into jail - rightfully so, but I wouldn't put it past them to ally with the Boltons for revenge."

"Uh, yes. Exactly. So, calling for local reinforcement might be risky. I'd heard from Jon that Mr. Stark's in contact with the president, and I was hoping we could get the Kingsguard on location. This is their area, afterall." He paused. "I've got four of my brothers from the Watch on route to the Twins but -- "

Robb frowned. "I thought the Night's Watch didn't take part in these kind of matters?"

"Um, no, we don't. But Jon's our Brother, we can't just stand by when we can do something -- essensially, it's a black ops, no back-up. We're hoping we can buy some time before the real help comes, which is where you come in." Sam took a deep breath. "There any way you can get the Kingsguard on site?"

Robb nodded. Finally, something he can do to gelp. "Yeah. Yeah, we'll handle it."

 

  
**Jon**

 

It's Sansa's loud gasp that brings more focus to the pain; he knew, as soon as the gun was fired, that he'd get hit no matter how he deflected.

"It's just a graze," he tells her as he pressed himself against the wall, breathing heavily as as he checked for bullets. "I can handle it."

He pushed himself off the wall and turned to the hallway, aiming at his shooter about ten feet away across the hall.

He fires twice before he lands a shot, and then he fires another one once the man had fallen to the ground, to be sure.

"That's five," he counts loudly, if only so he knows how many more bodies will be added to his night terrors once this is all over -- if this ever ends.

In all his time with the Watch, Jon was sure he'd seen all the horrors humanity can wreak upon itself. Time and again he's witnessed and endured cruelty and pain by the hands of men, and yet he's never been more frightened than he is now.

He finds that it's different when he's got something to lose. When he's fighting for himself instead of some vague vision he stands behind.

"Jon," Sansa hissed, hands holding his arm tightly to keep him on the spot. "You were shot."

"It's not deep," he says, which doesn't exactly mean it's okay.

Shallow wounds tend to feel a lot worse; the burning feeling of the skin too much, the sting of it hard to ignore. It's fucking painful, really, but he tries not to let it show for Sansa's sake.

He turns to her with a forced calmness. "Come on, we need to get going."

Though, where to go is still something they need to figure out.

They keep walking, taking down the cameras as they go. If Ramsay wants to play cat and mouse, he can at least play it fairly.

"Anything?" He turns to her expectantly, some time later.

They're at another corner in the third floor, Jon's taken out about four more of Ramsay's men, but his wound is really making it difficult to focus.

He watches Sansa as she flicked Arya's phone on and shook her head. "Still no signal."

He heaved a sigh, but tries to keep his face clear of any doubt or fear. They're pretty much out of options; this place is difficult to navigate and it's crawling with Ramsay's men. Escaping outside isn't much more of a plan, considering where they are and the kind of criminals crawling out there.

Basically everyone who would catch them would consider Sansa a prize; someone to use for their gain. The only thing they can do is wait for help to arrive. Help that they don't even know is coming.

"We need to find their control room, that's where they watch the camera feed," he tells her. "If they have a signal jammer, that's where it would be."

"That's what I did the first time. I snuck in there when I found the chance, used the phone, and called for help. He'll expect us to do that again."

He tries not to scowl; he hates that he didn't come into this with a plan. He's a soldier, he knows that a plan is the difference between death an survival. But coming here, all he could think of was Sansa and what might happen to her if he didn't get to her fast enough.

"I'm not going back to him alive, Jon."

Her words rang into his ear at every second that Ramsay had her, and he knew that there wasn't really anything else to do but get to her.

Now that he's with her, he just has to make sure that she gets out of this alive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sleepy and have ten hours of class ahead of me but I'm hoping I can put up the next chapter later after I finish editing it. If not, then maybe tomorrow. 
> 
> We're sooooooo close to the end and thank you guys for sticking with this story! :D


	29. Chapter 29

**Sansa**

  
They're on the second floor when Ramsay's men catches them; she sees them being led by Ellis. She remembers him from before, he probably escaped with Ramsay all those months ago, loyal as ever.

Jon tries to fight them off, securing her behind him as he tried to fight one, then two, and then three at a time. Jon had used up all his bullets but none of them seems to want to kill him.

They want to capture him.

For a moment, Sansa thinks Jon might actually be able to fight them off, but more men rounds on them and even she has no hope of fighting them. She tries, just as Jon taught her, but there's too many of them to be able to.

Someone manages to grab her, pushing a cloth against her face. She struggles against the man but her efforts are futile; her body is weakening, her mind slowing... and the last thing she sees is Jon determinedly fighing off as many of them as he can.

**

_When Sansa opens her eyes, she finds herself sitting on the floor of an empty room, blood pooling at her legs as she sat. Everywhere she turns there's blood, and if she moved it feels like she'll drown in them._

_She doesn't recognize where she is; the room is dark and there doesn't seem to be any way out. No doors pr windows in sight._

_She stood up and walked to a corner to try and see what the walls are made of; see if she can get out through it. The closer she gets, the less it looks like a wall and more like a body piled up on top of each other._

_She freezes when she realizes that's exactly what it is. She sees her older brother, Robb, among the pile, head turned to her. His eyes are blank and dead to the world but it's staring at her. Like he knows this is all her fault. That he's dead because of her._

_She turns away, and suddenly there's a body in the middle of the room, floating in the pool of blood. She moved towards it, shaking in fear, and she knows it's Jon before she even turns the body around._

_"No." She kneels down to touch his face, all caked in blood, and tried to wake him. "Jon, no. You can't - No. Please open your eyes."_

_Her plea is met with silence, his face blank and... and dead. Just like Robb's was. She tried to shake him again, her tears falling rapidly now as she tried to get him to wake up._

_"Sansa." She hears his voice suddenly, and the surprise makes her stop crying._

_She stared at him but he doesn't show any sign of movement._

_"Sansa," he repeats more urgently, and only his mouth moved this time._

_Hope spikes back up in her chest, and she starts shaking him again. Calling his name. This time it works; he gasps out, sucking in a deep breath as his eyes snapped open._

_His eyes are dark and empty, his face emotionless, but his voice is loud and clear and full of emotion. "Sansa, wake up!"_

And so she does.

When she comes to, her arms and legs are tied to a chair, her mouth gagged, and Jon is sitting right across from her.

He breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he sees her wake up.

"Are you hurt? Did they touch you?" He asked as though she's the one who looks worrisome here and not him.

In actuality, he's probably in worse state than she is. His face is swollen and bloody, and that graze on his leg is still unattended.

She struggles with the ropes around her, trying to remember what he'd taught her. This had been one of the first things he taught her and she's really hoping -

"San," Jon calls and her head snapped up. He shakes his head imperceptively and she knows what he means.

_Not yet._

"You're awake," Ramsay bursts into the room with a phoney smile on his face. "Good."

"In light of recent events... Namely, Jon Snow's men coming to rescue you - " He turns to Jon. "Oh, don't worry, we'll take care of them soon enough," he says before continuing. "Where was I? Ah, yes... the plan has changed again. In the meantime we'll just play a game indoors."

He turned to Sansa, his smile now dangerous. "Remember, Sansa? You love this game."

Her gaze immediately flicks to Jon as understanding dawns on her.

Jon readily meets her eyes, unaware of what Ramsay has in store for him, and she almost looks away at the thought when she realizes he's trying to tell her something.

His eyes are wide on her, he starts blinking unevenly, like... like morse code. Yet another one of his lessons. She tries to follow it as best she could.

... - .- .-.. .-.. / .... .. --

_Stall him._

She stared at him for a moment, because he doesn't know what he's asking of her. She's played this game so many times before that she thought she'd numbed herself to it.

Whenever Ramsay would make her watch as he played his games with other people, it was always terrifying in a distant way. As much as she was horrified of seeing blood, and hearing people scream for help that she can't give -- she doesn't really know them.

And she'd been through it enough times that she can sometimes pretend she's only playing a role in a movie; she's not really Sansa, but someone else. The man in front of her isn't really going to die, he's just going to pretend to.

But this is different when the man in front of her is Jon.

Ramsay circles around them like a predator watching his prey, taunting them, and Sansa tries to imagine Jon as aomething else, tries to distance herself from the situation, to no avail.

Sansa sucks in a deep breath as she feels Ramsay lean over her shoulder, so close to her face, and whisper, "I wonder who would last longer, you or him?"

Jon, in front of her, snaps, struggling out of his rope as he tries to reach Ramsay. "Get away from her."

It only makes Ramsay laugh, but she knows what Jon's trying to do. He's trying to stretch out his rope, make some space for himself.

Ramsay rounds on him. "I like you. You still think you can outsmart me, with your men positioned outside and getting ready to attack." He sounds pleased at this. "Let's see how they'll hold up against Littlefinger's men. They're almost here, you know," he directs the last part to Sansa and smirks. "And because of your little trick, I'll be here, safe, while Snow's men and Littlefinger's murder each other."

Sansa feels her heart fall at that; that's it then. They're on their own. She turns to Jon and sees the determination on his face; she can tell that he's not going to give up, not in a million years, and for him... for him she wouldn't, either.

Ramsay's attention is on Jon again, playful. "Now what to do with you," he says, slow and thoughful.

After a moment, Ramsay twists around so he can look at Sansa and smirks. "Sansa, do you remember our friend? I'm still looking for him, but... " She keeps her face blank but she already knows where this is going. "Wouldn't Jon make a good Reek? Afterall, you owe me the original."

Right then the image of Theon Greyjoy flashes in her mind. The last time she'd seen him was outside the woods of the Dreadfort, the pair of them having just barely escaped Ramsay's hounds.

In a distance, the sound of sirens have gotten louder, and freedom seems so close at hand.

"Thank you," he's the first to speak, eyes to the ground as it always is. "Foor reminding me who I am. Not Reek." And adds, almost in wonder: "I'm Theon Greyjoy."

"Aren't you going to stay?" She asked hopefully, cold and body still shaking in fear. "Help is coming."

He shook his head. "Don't think for a second that this is over, Sansa. He doesn't like to be outsmarted. He'll come for us as long as he lives, you know that."

She swallows. "What are you going to do?"

"Disappear."

Some part of her wishes she'd been as smart as him; if she'd disappeared then, she never would've fallen in love with Jon and she wouldn't have to see him suffer for loving her back.

  
**Jon**

Jon bites his lip on a scream, refusing to give Ramsay the pleasure of seeing his pain -- but also saving Sansa from it.

In front of him, she's got her eyes locked on him, watching as Ramsay has his fun in hurting him.

Jon's not sure how kong it's been but he can tell that it'll last for longer. He's trying to keep his mind off the pain from wounds he'd accumulated so far, tries to focus on his breathing and keeping his strength up.

He feels the fresh wound burning at his back, Ramsay had carved something into his skin - something that made his men snort in amusement - but Jon couldn't really focus on that.

All he could see is Sansa, and he knows that this is all meant to break her. He tries to catch her eyes, to assure her that he's alright tell her not to worry or blame herself, but she wouldn't turn his way.

She's looking but she's only pretending to see.

It's because she can't look away. Standing just behind Jon is one of Ramsay's men, he's holding the gun Ramsay had given Jon earlier. The one with a single bullet, and he's got it trained on Jon's head.

If Sansa looks away, even for just a second -- the man would fire his gun.

Ramsay, finally deciding on where to mark him next, digs his knife into Jon's abdomen. The pain is sharp and weakening, and Jon can feel his strength waning.

He breathes in and shakes his head, telling himself that he feels nothing to trick his mind into believing it. No matter his tolerance for pain, a stab wound can be very lethal and he forces himself not to die. Not yet, at least.

He can't leave Sansa like this.

Jon looked around the room, counting down the men inside. There's Ramsay, the guy behind him, and two more by the door.

From what Jon could guess, he thinks there's about a dozen more of them patrolling the place.

There were more, but he managed to take them down. Nine from his count, which has hopefully given them more advantage.

In his state, he could probably fight off all four of them in the room, but that would still leave Sansa a lot to go through.

They have to wait a bit longer for any more help that would come their way.

If Ramsay's telling the truth and they have men outside, that means Arya's managed to contact Sam. And his friend would know that they'll need all the help they can get.

He just has to keep stalling until they arrive -- to make sure Sansa will truly be safe.  
  
He coughs up blood and spits it out. "That all you got?" He taunts, making sure Ramsay's looking at his unimpressed expression. "Been there, done that."

Ramsay's eyes flashes dangerously before he's smirking again "Maybe I should cut off your tongue first," he muses. "How does that sound?"

"Predictable," he answers readily before forcing out a laugh. "Weak men can't handle hearing what others have to say."

Ramsay narrows his eyes. "Then maybe I should leave just your tongue. Give it to Sansa as souvenir for when you're dead."

Jon laughs again, it takes more effort but he tries, just to distract Ramsay and his men. "Get on with it then. Kill me."

Jon knows he won't, not yet. It won't be satisfying unless he's begging for it. He sees the man take a deep breath, trying to gain control over his emotions, and Jon uses that as an opportunity to subtly loosen the rope off his feet while no one's watching.

He's been stretching the ropes bounding him the entire time, just so he can make an easy escape when the time comes.

Finally, Ramsay looks to him again. "I'm not killing you yet. Why should I when I'm having so much fun just hurting you," he says before he quickly grabs another knife and digs it into his leg.

The surprise makes him scream in pain, and Sansa almost flinches away. She keeps her eyes on him, though, her entire body shaking as she made herself watch.

That's when he breaks. That look on her face, it breaks him and he can't -- he won't let her go through this anymore. Back-up or not he has to do something.

"San," he calls for her instinctively, ignoring Ramsay, and she meets his eyes. "I'll get you out of this, okay?"

It's a promise but also another distraction. Just as Ramsay laughs at his comment, he sends Sansa another message through morse code.

Just one word: Rope.

She nodded, which Ramsay should assume as her reply to his promise. But he knows she understands what he wants her to do.

"Hey, you," he calls for Ramsay, mocking him by not using his name. It gets his and his guards' attention, which Jon wanted, so he continues. "When I get free, I'll take this - " he tilts his head sideways, and he feels the gun aimed at him bump against his head. "And use it on you."

Ramsay doesn't laugh at the threat. Jon can tell that his patience is running thin and he's just as close to snapping and killing him right on the spot. Jon doesn't care, though. Angry men make mistakes.

As he was hoping, Ramsay snaps and tries to reach for him to maybe dig the knife deeper into his abdomen, but Jon is quick.

He pushes himself backwards, kicking Ramsay in the process, before he lets himself fall to the floor.

The impact is painful and he feels the knife in his torso move in position. He can't take it out though, not unless he wants to bleed out and die, then and there.

He makes a quick move of freeing himself from the rope tied around him, and his efforts of stretching it out pays off.

He does this all in under a few seconds, thanks to his training, and he knows he had the element of surprise to his advantage.

Once his hands are free, he grabs the knife on his leg and throws it to the guy who held a gun to his head, just as he limped to one of the other guards still scrambling for their own guns.

The man falls on the floor, knife to his neck, and Jon quietly adds him into the body count.

He reaches the nearest guard just as he trains the gun on him but Jon's close enough that he knocks it off his hand and catches it. Jon shoots him on the shoulder and grabbed him as a shield before shooting the other guy.

He misses, and the guy shoots at him but only manages to shoot his friend.

He turns quickly to see how Sansa's doing, and he sees her nearly free from her binds. Nearby, Ramsay's scrambling to his feet from where he's fallen. Jon had hit him hard enough to have kept him disoriented and he aims for him next when more men burst into the room.

He moves quickly and turns to the door. Ramsay can wait, he doesn't have a gun on him. He aims at the door and then he fires on his target, aim and fire, aim and fire, aim and fire...

It takes a lot of effort to land a shot, his head turning from the pain, but he tries his best. He forces his mind to focus, letting the pain in his body fall into the background.

Someone shoots him on the shoulder and his energy dwindles. He suddenly feels off-footed and almost falls to the floor but he only just manages to stay up. Protect Sansa, his mind tells him over and over again, and it's almost enough to keep him going.

Suddenly, he hears it. So does everybody else. The sounds of helicopters start looming overhead and he knows -- he knows he only need to hold on for a little more before he can stop.

He doesn't remember much of what happens, it all feels like a blur. What he remembers next is standing in the middle of the room, dead bodies piled around them, and Ramsay's standing a few feet away from him, holding a knife to Sansa's neck.

He hears gunshots from a distance and he knows help has finally arrived.

"Uh-uh, drop the gun or she loses her pretty little head," he says warningly, pressing the knife deep enough to her throat to draw blood.

Somehow, in so much pain and a little delirious, the situation makes Jon chuckle. Of course this is how it ends. He does as Ramsay had instructed - he's out of bullets anyway - and stood back up, trying to keep himself together for Sansa's sake.

His attention is fully on her now, and he can tell that she's trying to break through that cloud in her head.

"It's just you and me, San," he tells her, his voice calm and reassuring, and he sees her nod once before she's maneuvering herself out of Ramsay's grasp.

Just as they practiced.

As Sansa twists his arm away from her, Jon reached for the nearest gun he finds, and trains it on Ramsay. He's still struggling to keep his hold on her but Sansa twists enough to give him a clear shot, and he doesn't hessitate before pulling the trigger.

Ramsay's body falls to the ground, bullet to the head. It's more mercy than he deserves, and a quicker death than Jon would've preferred, but he can't regret it.

He can't hurt Sansa anymore.

Jon takes a deep breath and let his knees fall to the ground. He feels so exhausted and tired that he can't even pinpoint where it hurts.

 _Maybe I can rest for a little while_ , he thinks as he let his body fall to the floor. _Just for a second._

It's tempting to just shut his eyes but Sansa's suddenly right in front of him, crying his name out and planting hurried kisses upon kisses on his face, and he finds it hard to keep his eyes away from her.

"Are hurt anywhere?" He asked, slurring the words a little as he inspected her person.

She shook her head. "No, I'm alright. You're not."

He waves it off, trying to keep his eyes on her. "I can take it."

He so badly wants to shut his eyes and just rest for a little, before help arrives, but he doesn't want to miss this. Seeing her and knowing that he got to love someone as incredible as her --- if this should be the last moment he gets to have, it will have been worth it. All of it.

He reaches a hand out to her cheek and she presses herself against it. "I told you, didn't I?" he says. "I won't let him hurt you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason I've been soooo busy lately - aside from the pile of school work I have yet to finish - is because I started blogging and if you're interested in stuff like that, feel free to check mine out: www.direkcathrene.com.
> 
> On another note, It's my first time writing stuff like this so I hope the chapter worked. Thank you so much for reading!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking so long to update! I can’t believe it took me three months to finish this chapter, but one of the POVs really gave me a hell of a hard time —
> 
> Speaking of, there’s a Petyr Baelish POV in here so be warned, I guess? (Idk how it turned out but I was cringing the whole time I was trying to write it so now I’m just kinda glad to be done with it.)
> 
> Anywaaaay, hope you guys enjoy! :D

**Sansa**

 

 

It feels like decades before help finally arrives.

The man that comes is dressed in black, his gun trained at an expected assailant until he realizes there’s no one left to fight.

There is only Sansa, sitting on the bloodied floor with Jon lying unconscious on her lap.

“There’s too much blood,” she croaks out, recognizing the man as Grenn from Jon’s pictures. “I don’t know what to do, he won’t — he’s not waking up.”

He hasn’t been responding to her, not in a while.

"I've found them," Grenn says to his radio as he approached. "No hostiles in sight. First tower, fourth floor. We're two doors down the right. We need medics here now, Jon is down.”

He kneels in front of Jon, pressing two fingers against the side of his neck to check his pulse and Sansa holds her breath, waiting for a reaction.

She’s checked it just moments ago, she’d felt the faint pulse against her skin. Yet it still scares her to think it could’ve stopped.

“He’s alive,” she says, forceful. It’s more for her than him.

“He is,” Grenn agrees, yet she sees him try to hide that grave look on his face. “He’s a strong man, Jon Snow.” Then to his radio: “He’s unconscious. He’s got bullet wounds, a few visible knife wounds. He’s lost a lot of blood and his pulse is weak. What’s the update on the medics?”

Grenn then stands up to check the bodies around them, Sansa assumes to make sure they’re all dead, and it’s only then that she takes in their surroundings.

Countless of lifeless bodies lie all around her, among them is Ramsay’s. It’s a few feet away from where they are and she watches warily as Grenn came to approach it.

He taps Ramsay with his foot, making sure there’s no response. Sansa already knew there wouldn’t be — she’d seen the bullet clearly go through his head.

Grenn mutters something on his radio but it’s incoherent to her.

Much closer to her, she realizes, is the gun Jon had used to kill Ramsay. It’s that same one he’d left in front of the door hours ago. The one with a single bullet meant to mock Jon.

 _Was it only hours ago?_  She wonders numbly. _It feels so much longer than that. Decades, maybe._

She leaned down, pressing her lips against Jon’s forehead. “Please stay with me,” she begs for over a hundredth time, hoping that he can hear it. “Please.”

When the medics arrive, they’re immediately ushered out of the tower and led outside where a perimeter has been set up.

It’s chaos all around; there are onlookers outside the perimeter, as well as reporters trying to snap pictures of her.

Thankfully, another of Jon’s brothers come to her aid, walking right in front to shield her from view.

She realizes a moment later that they’re being directed to an air ambulance, but not before they’re intercepted by a Kingsguard.

“Ma’am,” he says, stopping in front of them as the medics continue to move ahead.

She swallowed nervously, watching them take Jon away. She can’t bear to let him out of her sight now, not when there are still threats out there.

Another man in black comes to help, putting a hand in front of the Kingsguard to stop his approach.

“Is there a problem here?” He asked, and Sansa belatedly recognizes him as Edd Tollett.“Ms. Stark needs medical attention. If you have inquiries, feel free to ask her later. Please move out of the way.”

“Don’t trust them,” Grenn whispered to her, just as Edd nodded for them to move along.

“This is our scene, Crow. You don’t give me orders,” she hears the Kingsguard respond as they walked

“It’s a joint operation, Ser,” Edd retorted. “Or haven’t you heard your president’s latest announcement?”

“Prick,” Grenn muttered under his breath later, making Sansa turn to him as they finally settled inside the helicopter.

“Did something happen?”

She can tell whatever’s going on is more than the politics between the different agencies; it seems more personal.

Grenn looked around, making sure the medics are far enough not to hear before answering her on a whisper. “We advised the Kingsguard that we were on-site but they still targeted us as soon as they got here. They let some of the hostiles get away.” He shook his head, disgusted. “We think Ramsay has an inside man. Sabotaged the whole operation - it’s why we couldn’t get to you guys sooner.”

Sansa swallowed.

She has a feeling she knows exactly who tried to sabotage the whole thing; Petyr has connections. There’s no doubt he tried to make sure no one but her got out of this alive.

And he failed.

This isn’t over yet, she realized.

Her gaze shifts to Jon, still unconscious as the medics tried to attend to his injuries. as much as he can.

Sansa moved to be closer to him, holding onto his hand as he’s being treated.

He’s done so much for her, she thought. And now it’s her turn.

 

 

**Petyr**

 

Petyr heaves out a heavy sigh as he watched the news report about what had just happened at the Twins.

He’d meant for the situation to be handled discreetly, yet somehow it has exploded into a bigger deal than it should be.

Now Sansa Stark is once again in the limelight and his plans have gotten more complicated that it needed to be.

His phone rings and his irritation only grows when he sees who it is.

“Mr. Brune,” he greeted icily. “What part of discreet was unclear to you?”

“Ramsay played us,” the man says immediately, as though Petyr hasn’t figured it out yet. But he was the one who got the Kingsguard involved, was he not? “He had his men ambush us, and those guys from the Watch joined in.””

Petyr sighed. That Jon Snow has become such a nuisance.

“And?”

“Ms. Stark is being transported to White Harbor,” he continued. “Everyone’s eyes are on her, sir. It would be impossible to get her out without anyone noticing.”

What an irksome man, Petyr muses. It’s not his place to provide counsel and yet he thinks it’s welcome.

Petyr lets it go for now, moving on to more pressing matters. “The man, what of him?”

“He’s alive.”

Yet even more disappointing news.

He sighed. “Will he remain that way?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” He drops the call and had his secretary come in.

 _Olyvar_ , ever the dutiful servant, bows as he entered.

“Sir?”

“Has my wife’s assets been taken care of?”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Peryr smirked. “Good. Have the jet prepared, I’d like to see how my sweet Alayne is faring.”

Petyr arrives at White Harbor far later than he would’ve wanted, but precautions are necessary for his hands to remain clean of all this.

To anyone else, he’s merely a concerned friend to the Starks, coming to pay his respects to Ned’s oldest daughter.

Armed men are stationed outside of Sansa’s room, as he expected, and he turns to one of them with a faux-worried expression. “How is she? Is she awake? Sansa? Is she alright?”

The guard clears his throat, looking unsure. “Aye. But I’m afraid we’re not allowed to let you in.”

Petyr nods. “Of course. Her protection is paramount. I thank you for doing your job well but it is completely unnecessary, I only want to check on my niece.”

The guard exchanged a look with his company. “We really can’t allow that, sir. You don’t have the clearance.”

“Pypar,” he reads the name off the man’s chest, trying to keep his calm. “The Starks have been through something horrific todayand Sansa needs her family. Right now that it only me, do not begrudge her of it.”

The man doesn’t move, trying Petyr’s patience. “Is she awake? Go on and ask her, she’ll tell you it’s fine.”

The guard looks tentative but does as he asked. Petyr doesn’t hear her reply but the guard opens the door wider for him, looking apologetic.

Imbecile.

Still, he smiled. He’s pleased to know that the girl still does not disappoint.

He enters the room and sees her sitting on the bed. Aside from a few scratches here and there, she seems to be fine. To his disappointment, though, he notices signs that she’d been crying.

It sends a flash of anger inside him, aware of just who she cries for, but he doesn’t let it show.

It won’t do well to be angry now.

“Sweetling, I’ve been so worried,” he said, coming to the side of her bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled as he reached for her cheek, inspecting her closely.

“Are you not pleased to see me?”

Slowly, she meets his eyes. “I am. I’m just tired.”

He nodded solemnly. “Of course. It had been quite a day for you.”

“It has.” She swallowed. “I just want to rest. Why are you here?”

“To see you, sweetling,” he snswered dutifully. “What else would I be doing in this dreary town?”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t seem to want to. He sighed, this whole act she’s trying to pull is exhausting but he plays along.

“How’s your... friend.”

“He’s still in surgery,” Sansa replied, not meeting his eyes, but he can tell that she cares deeply for the boy.

He loathes even just the thought of it but he expects it to stop being a problem soon enough.

“Tell me, Sansa. Do you love him?” He asked, his voice dangerously low.

“No.”

Petyr smiled. “Then you wouldn’t mind if he died, then?” Her eyes flashed with fear, revealing all that he already knew. “I hear he’s in bad state. It wouldn’t be surprising if he succumbed to his injuries.”

She swallowed, a silent plea in her eyes. “Don’t hurt him. Please.”

It breaks his patience. His hold tightens on her. “You do not beg for a man’s life, Sansa. Have I not taught you any better?”

She doesn’t cry; it’s been long since he’s seen her cry. She’s a quick learner and yet she can still be stupid at the worst of times.

“I don’t love him,” she insists, but he can still tell that it takes effort for her to do so. “I just don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”

He paused, pretending to consider it. “And what are you willing to do to ensure that?”

She swallowed. “I’ll go with you. We’ll disappear — I’ll do whatever you want.”

He doesn’t let himself smirk; she’s just right where he wants her.

He leaned in, testing her, and she’s completely still as he pressed a kiss to her lips.

“You’ll come to love me, my darling girl,” he promised.

She did love him once, years ago in the Eyrie. Circumstances have made her forget but she will learn it again.

“What about your wife?”

He smirked, pleased to hear the jealousy there. “You don’t have to concern yourself with her anymore.”

He’d taken care of that loose thread himself.

Sansa turns to him, curious. “What did you do?”

He doesn’t reply but the memory of finally being rid of the mad woman is a pleasure.

“Did you kill her?” Sansa asked again.

This time, he replied. “All for you, my love.”

He tried to press another kiss to her lips but she moved away.

“I never asked you to do that,” she said. “I never asked you for any of it - you took me from my family and - “

“To protect you,” he said loudly, cutting her off. He sighed impatiently. This little game of hers is quite tiring. “Sansa, how many times must I prove to you that all I’ve ever done is to protect you?”

“Having my fatherassassinated — that was to protect me?” She asked, her voice seeping with sarcasm. “You taught me better than to believe that, Littlefinger.”

 

 

 

**Sam**

 

“There. Finally,” Sam says cheerfully, pumping his fist in the air.

After months of going round and round trying to track Baelish’s movements, he’s finally done it.

He turns to his side where Robb Stark is watching the monitors with a dark expression on his face.

Currently, Sansa’s conversation with Littlefinger is being aired nationwide, and while Sam’s already aware ofthe horrifying things she’d just made Petyr Baelish admit to, it must be terrible for her brother to hear it.

Sam schools his expression, realizing that it’s probably the wrong time to rejoice. He turned back to his own screen, blowing a breath of relief

He’s been trying to crack this case with Jon for months and all they apparently needed was Sansa’s cooperation.

She knows everything to nail Baelish to the wall; she knows stuff that possibly no one else knows, and once she’d told Sam what to look for, it had been easier to find out about them.

Now he has access to all the deals Baelish had ever made under his alias, Littlefinger; all his movements, his transactions, and all the people in the government who are deep in his pockets.

“It’s done,” he announced, turning to Robb warily as he addressed them all. “All the files has been uploaded online. I set up an airtight security around it and the only way to erase it now is to completely shut down the world wide web.”

He turned to the other man, Jory. “With these files, Sansa’s statement, and Baelish admitting to some of his own crimes, we have plenty of grounds for an arrest.”

Jory nodded and made a phone call.

Immediately, Sam sees Stark agents came into the room to escort Petyr Baelish away. Sansa says something to him but Sam had taken his earpiece off so he doesn’t hear it.

 

 

 

**Sansa**

 

Sansa’s hands are shaking; she can’t seem to make it stop. Worse than that, she feels her entire body go frozen in shock and disbelief.

It feels difficult to breath, too, but the sensation feels familiar.

Sliding down the floor of the bathroom, ignoring the vomit all over the floor, she clutched at her chest, trying to even her erratic breathing.

She shut her eyes and Jon’s voice comes to her immediately.

 _It’s okay, you’re okay,_ he’s told her plenty of times before. _It’s just you and me here._

She hugs her knees to her chest, praying to feel his arms around her again.

_Just breathe, San. Breathe._

“Jon.” She cried out, begging whatever gods would listen to let him live. “Please let him be okay. Please.”

She should be relieved; people who’s tried to harm her and her family are gone. Ramsay’s dead and Petyr, along with anyone who ever helped him, is going to get what’s coming for them.

It’s a win.

But it doesn’t feel like it.

Not with Jon’s life still at risk.

 

***

 

Jon’s surgery was a success but days pass with him still unconscious; he’s in a medically induced coma, the doctors have said.

Since he’d suffered from severe head injury after what happened, they’re waiting for his brain to heal just enough until they can take him off the drug.

The only reason Sansa manages to keep herself distracted from the fear of Jon never waking up is by focusing her attention on making sure that Baelish never gets out of prison.

A lot of his crimes are considered to be an issue of national security so President Stannis insisted on handling the matters immediately; Sansa as the key witness to all of it has been subjected to endless court hearings where she has to relive her worst nightmares over and over again for people to hear.

She took a deep breath, tangling her fingers with Jon’s.

It’s been two months since everything that happened; so much has changed around them. Her family’s okay, thank the Gods. Her dad is okay now, though he has to walk with a cane. Robb had moved back to Winterfell with Jeyne. And Arya started offering self-defense classes at a gym in Wintertown every weekend.

Everything has turned out okay — except for Jon.

They took him off the drugs yesterday so he should’ve been awake by now but Sansa has spent the entire night waiting, to no avail.

“Jon. Please wake up,” she begs, as she has been doing every single day after his surgery. “If you do, I swear I’ll listen to your stupid rules from now on.”

She waits for a reaction, as though she actually expects it to work.

“I won’t sneak out anymore,” she continued. “I won’t complain about bringing guards everywhere I go.”

It doesn’t work

“If you don’t wake up, I’m breaking up with you,” she tries again.

Still nothing.

And then —

“We can’t have that,” he said slowly, his voice rough and unused. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly, an amused smile playing on his lips. “We’ve only only just started.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Jon**

He hears Sansa before he even realizes that it’s her talking. The voice is something distant; a faint sound that he can’t quite reach, and doesn’t try to.

When he tries to move, he finds that he can’t. His body feels sore and weak, his muscles screaming at his futile attempt to move. 

He thinks it feels as though he’d been run over by a car or something equally painful, until he remembers what actually happened.

The memories start to flood in -- Ramsay. The Twins. Winterfell on fire. Petyr Baelish. A gun with a single bullet.

_Sansa._

The sudden thought forces him into consciousness – a sort of panic that convinces him that she must be in danger and he needs to get the fuck up and keep her safe, but then that voice he’s hearing becomes clearer.

“...complain about bringing guards everywhere I go.”

 _It’s her_ , his heart sings in relief. 

“If you don’t wake up, I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat makes him smile. Forcing his eyes open, he tilts his head to her.

“We can’t have that.” His voice is hoarse and unused and his throat feels so dry he’s not even surprised it comes out like that. “We’ve only just started.”

 _How long have I been unconscious_ _?_ He wonders, but the thought fleets away when he notices her staring at him in shock.

“Hey, love,” he tries again, reaching a hand out to her. “you’re not hurt anywhere?”

Her gaze follows his hand, almost as though she’s struggling to believe whatever’s happening. His touch seems to get her out of her thoughts, finally releasing the breath she’d been holding.

Suddenly, before he could fully make sense of what she was going to do, she rose from her seat and launched herself to him, capturing his mouth on a kiss.

He’s vaguely aware that the inside of his mouth tastes like garbage but she doesn’t seem to care – and what’s a man to do when the love of his life kisses him like it’s the only thing she wants? 

He kisses her back, of course. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she whimpers. It comes out both as a warning and a plea. “I thought you were never going go wake up.”

The evident fear in her tone makes him frown. “I’m here now,” he assured, caressing her cheek. “No need to worry anymore, yeah?”

To his surprise, she smiled and nodded, accepting his words without argument. 

Shhee embraces him, nuzzling her head on the nook of his neck. “Yeah. I’m good now.”

The doctor comes in soon after, and he explains to Jon exactly how his physical condition is.

Apparently, he’s been unconscious for two months. They had him in an induced coma due to injuries when Ramsay and his men were beating him up. 

The time he’s been asleep had helped heal his brain, as well as his other injuries, but not all of them.

Apparently. That shot on his leg was worse than he’d assumed, or maybe it got worse the longer he had it unattended.

According to the doctor, he’ll be needing a few months of physical therapy before he can walk properly again, and while it sounds horrible, Jon’s pretty sure it’s a small price to pay for what he gets in return.

She squeezes Sansa’s hand reassuringly, noticing that sheepish look on her face.

She feels guilty.

“I’ll be alright,” he promised, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

Once the doctor has left, she fills him in on everything else. She starts from the Twins, about what happened after he lost consciousness and everything that followed.

Jon is glad to hear that her entire family is safe; he’d felt guilty leaving them when the fire had spread in the house but he knew he couldn’t let Sansa get away.

_“Go. Go after her,” Catelyn had pled with him just moments_ _after Ramsay left_ _the premises._

_She handed him a piece of paper that said:_ _Come and see soldier. And come alone._

_“Please protect my girl, please.” Catelyn had wailed. “Go now. We’ll be fine.”_

Jon shakes off the thought, trying to focus on the present.

Aside from her family’s safety, Sansa had also ensured hers. 

Petyr Baelish, while still unfortunately alive, will be spending the rest of his days in Dragonstone. It’s the most highly-secured prison in all of the seven kingdoms and only the worst of the worst resides there. Meaning, Baelish’s hopes of escape is slim to none.

Jon can tell that Sansa downplays everything she went through the last couple months for his sake, but he can still tell that it had been difficult for her to have dealt with it all.

He hates that he couldn’t have been there to face it all with her. But he’s there now, and he’ll stay right by her side for as long as she’ll have him.

**Sansa**

Sansa can’t bring herself to stop staring at him.

It’s been days since he woke up but the sight of him staring right back at her with that soft smile he has only for her just never gets old.

“Like what you see?” he asked, teasing.

She doesn’t even deny it, only smiling. “I really do.”

He huffs out a laugh, not expecting her to agree. She usually tries to deny it.

The look on his face as he laughed, his eyes wrinkling on the corners, makes her smile. It’s a great look on him and she hopes he will only ever look this contented from now on.

She took his hand and tangled her fingers with his before pressing kisses on the  back of his hand; showering him with all the affection she can give.

She can’t help it. He’s given her so much; he’s given her more than she can ever hope to give him. Strength, courage, hope – she never thought she’d ever learn to  _want_  to live again but he’s shown her that while she’s lost so much, not everything is lost.

He’d helped her find the strength to live; reminded her all of the reasons why she should choose to fight.

She still has her family – they're all alive and well, though understandably more guarded in light of recent events. That she’s alive is another thing. It feels like she’s been to hell and back again in the last few years but no matter how tough things got, she still survived. That should mean something, shouldn’t it?

And probably the best of all --

Jon is alive too. And she gets to keep him.

He rubbed the back of her hand soothingly. “I love you, you know that?”

Yes, she does. And it’s a fascinating feeling, knowing that she’s loved and that she doesn’t doubt it. Not one bit.

She sees it in his eyes, in that warm way he always looks at her. She feels it in his touch, that gentle caress. In the way that he kisses her – in the way that he worries after her. 

She knows it in the way that he doesn’t have to do anything at all, she just  _knows_.

And she hopes it’s the same for him.

Jon is released from the hospital some days afterward and they headed back to Riverrun immediately.

Sansa would’ve preferred to go back to Winterfell so he can make his recovery there. Her father had taken the liberty to arrange everything he needs to recover fully but he’d turned it down once he realized Sansa intended to go with him.

He doesn’t like the idea of her missing any more of her classes. She’d tried to argue with him about it, pointing out that the semester is already over. The school had allowed her to take her exams remotely and she’d already gotten her grades through e-mail. She can always go back to school once she’s sure he’s okay.

“It’s not just about school, San,” Jon reasoned with her. “It’s about the friends you’ve made in the past few months and all the progress you’ve made. Do you really want to start over again when you’ve been doing so well there?”

She opened her mouth to argue but finds herself with no words to say. He’s right, of course she doesn’t want to start over again, but -- “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Jon.”

So, a compromise was made; Sansa will continue her studies in Riverrun and Jon will stay with her as he goes through his physical therapy.

 Days go by slowly and quickly at the same time and somehow, without her even noticing it, she started to –  _finally, truly_  – heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO! When I was outlining the chapters for this fic, I genuinely considered ending the story here but then I also wanted to go into how their relationship has become, years down the road.
> 
> And so, for the next AND final chapter, we dive seven years into the future.
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)


	32. EPILOGUE

** _7 YEARS LATER_ **

**Jon**

“Wake up, grandpa.”

Jon’s day starts with Sansa’s teasing voice, her breath tickling his ears as she spoke. He’s lying on his stomach, her weight on his back. He’s confused at that because he was sure she’d been asleep all this time. 

When he opened his eyes, he realizes he’s actually hugging Ghost instead of her.

She snorted. “You two look cozy.”

He twists so he’d be hugging her instead and nuzzled against her arm as he tried to get back to sleep. She doesn’t let him though, shaking him awake just as he closed his eyes.

“No, don’t sleep. You have to wake up.”

He hummed but doesn’t relent.

“Come on, old man, you gotta get up.”

He groaned. "I’m only thirty. You’re an asshole,” he said sleepily, no heat to his words.

It makes her laugh, scratching behind his ears as she would do to Ghost. “Grumpy. Come on, wake up. I have a surprise.”

He tilted his head, peeking an eye out to look at her. “Yeah?”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “It is your birthday after all.”

She doesn’t wait for him to respond, dragging him out of the bed to show him whatever it is. He laughed at this, letting her drag him out of their bedroom with no complaint.

He can’t figure out why but for some reason, she tends to get over-excited with his birthdays. But then again, he’s a lot more excited for her birthdays too, so maybe that’s just how it is.

Sansa directs him to sit on by the table in the dining room as she retrieved her surprise. He watched her disappear into the kitchen with a grin.

Over the years, her relationship with the kitchen can best be described as conditional. She’s improved a lot with her cooking; she was forced to learn while he was in recovery and she had to do most of it. Still, Jon tends to do most of the cooking around the house now.

They did find that she had a talent in baking; it has something to do with measurements and accuracy and not having to guess most of what she's supposed to do. 

This discovery actually led her to finally declare a major. Jon’s glad for it, to be honest. Sansa could spend hours in the kitchen, baking to her heart’s content, and he’ll never tire of seeing her so relaxed and at ease.  

 When she comes through the door, she’s carrying a plate of strawberry pancake designed to look like a cake, complete with a candle on top. 

It makes him laugh, reminded of the first ever dish she’d ever made for him.

How can he forget? He’d devoured every burnt piece of it.

“I knew this day would come,” he said with a proud grin on his lips before blowing the candle.

“You didn’t make a wish,” she complained with a cute little pout. They’ve been together for years yet the look can still make him feel like a teenager  in love.

“I have everything I need right here,” he said, holding her hand. “My wife and my pancakes.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re still not cute.”

But if the way she’s trying to hide her smile is any indication, she actually thinks he’s very cute.

Since it’s a weekend and he doesn’t have work, Jon spends most of the day at the bakery while Sansa worked. As he usually would, he grades some of the papers he brought with him as he waited.

If you’d asked him eight years ago where he saw himself in the future, he’s not sure this would’ve been his answer.

A teacher married to a baker.

It’s so mundane that it sounds a bit like an alternate universe when he considers where they began -- but he doesn’t mind. He likes where they are now and the kind of life they’re living. He wouldn’t change it for the world.

Sansa ducks out early to spend the afternoon with him, leaving the responsibilities in the shop to Hotpie for the day.

They head to the cinema. It’s become some sort of tradition for them to watch all the latest action films as much as they can. 

The one they watch is equally as unrealistic as all the others, but that’s the best kind. He knows she loves it because of his stupid commentaries about how unrealistic those movies tend to be, and he doesn’t mind being extra ridiculous about it just to get her to laugh.

“Now they’re not even trying,” Jon muttered as the lead guy literally flies from one corner to the next. It isn’t even fantasy, it’s just action, and it’s meant to look like he’s just athletic. “No one jumps that high. seven hells.”

Someone from the seat in front of them shushes him and it makes Sansa giggle.

“Well, it’s true,” he mutters again, but only loud enough so she’d hear, and it makes her giggle even more.

After the movie, they kill time walking around Wintertown until it’s time for them to head to her parents’ house. 

Usually, they would host the celebration at home but her parents had volunteered to host this year since they’re in the middle of preparing to move to a bigger place.

It's been three years since they moved back to Winterfell, living in their two-bedroom apartment in all that time, and it feels like a good time for change.

When they finally get to the estate, it’s Rickon who greets them by the door. He jumped into Jon’s arms as soon as he opened the door, screaming “Happy birthday, Jon,” as he goes. 

“Seven hells,” Jon grunted before letting out a low chuckle as Rickon finally let go. He does the same thing even at school, which somehow embarrasses Jon more than it does him. “You know you’re not eight anymore, right?”

Rick shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s still fun because you still keep catching me.”

Sansa grinned, accepting a hug from his youngest brother. “Come on, Rick. You should stop. You don’t want him to hurt his back, do you?” She ruffled his hair. “Respect your elders.”

“Thirty is not old,” Jon complained as though he actually minds the teasing. “Wait ‘til you get to this age, I’ll be merciless.” 

Rick snorted. “But when that happens, you’ll still be older so you'd also just be making fun of yourself.”

Jon poked him on the side. “Whose side are you on?”

“Sansa’s, obviously.” Rickon said, jumping away before Jon could tickle him.

At fifteen, Rickon is the wildest of the Starks but also the sweetest. Jon thinks he might even follow after Sansa’s footsteps, spending basically all his free time at the shop so his sister can teach him to bake.

They wait for the rest of the starklings before starting dinner. They all live in Winterfell now so it’s not a long wait, and Sansa’s up on her seat to greet her nephew as soon as Robb and Jeyne arrive with little Ned in tow.

“You want one?” Robb asked as he patted Jon on the back, nodding towards Sansa and his son babbling at each other.

Jon ducks his head on a smile. “Maybe.”

And he waits until after dinner before he and Sansa tells the family that they actually have one on the way.

Catelyn Stark immediately burst into tears, dragging her eldest daughter into her embrace just as everyone else stood up to congratulate them both.

They get bombarded with question immediately which Jon is not at all prepared for but Sansa answers them all easily, reiterating everything the doctors have told them thus far.

They’ve been trying for a while but they didn’t tell anyone to avoid added pressure. Arya is the only one who even knows – but that’s mostly because she practically lives at the apartment and they couldn’t figure out a way to ask her to scram at certain periods of the month so Jon and Sansa could... well,  _get it on_.

Later into the night, Ned Stark pulls him aside. “Congratulations, son, and happy birthday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ned waves him off. “Between the two of us, I have more to be grateful to you for.” When he merely frowns in confusion, Ned continues. “For keeping your promise and protecting my daughter. It’s more than I will ever be able to repay.”

Jon doesn't agree, but he has a question he’s always wanted to ask. “Sir, I’ve been wondering... you could’ve had anyone protecting Sansa if you wanted – but you asked me. I guess I’ve just always been curious why.”

It’s not like Jon had any background on being a bodyguard. Surely there was someone with more experience than he had, someone who knew what they were doing – yet Ned still chose him. For some reason.

The question makes Ned smile. “I did it because of her.”

Jon followed his line of vision to where Sansa’s having a conversation with her mother. “It’s true that we needed someone to keep her safe but more than that, we needed someone  _she_ could trust to keep her safe,” He put an arm on Jon’s shoulder. “And that was you, son.”

Jon's even more confused by that. “But we weren’t even close as children. How could you have known she would trust me?”

“She had a picture of you.” Ned turned to him. “She was holding onto it when we found her, She wouldn’t show it to us so we didn’t know what it was at first but we knew it was significant. She held onto that piece of paper like a lifeline. Like it gave strength somehow. She never let it go.” 

Jon tried to process this; he did know about the picture, Sansa had told him about it, she’d even shown it to him once because she still kept it to this day. But this is a new angle to the story he never realized existed.

“At some point after we’ve taken her to the hospital, she fell asleep. Cat found a chance to glance at it and we saw that it was a picture of you. We didn’t understand what it meant – we still don’t, but... we just knew you were important to her.”

It’s both fascinating and terrifying to think that a single moment in time could have defined the rest of his life.

 _What if Sansa never found that picture_ , Jon wonders.  _Would this still be his life now?_

He knows it’s a crazy thought and later, as he lied awake in bed with Sansa sleeping peacefully next to him, he decides that it doesn’t matter.

Moving to Winterfell when he was six. Meeting Robb. Befriending him. Becoming a part of their family. Losing his mother. Applying to the academy. Becoming a member of the Night’s Watch. They all seem unrelated but each of the choices he’s made has led him there, with Sansa’s head on his chest and his arms securely around her.

And maybe, just maybe, their fates were always meant to collide no matter the path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m actually... speechless. 
> 
> It’s done. Holy fuck, it’s done. Haha, I’ve never written anything thing this long before so I’m actually surprised that I managed to see it through. I’ll admit that I’m also a bit sad but that’s just because I’ll miss writing in this universe. It has been fun. 
> 
> Anyway, happy birthday to Jon, to this fic, and to me. Hahaha, it has been a long and stressful year but writing this was a fun escape. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s given this fic a chance. I didn’t even think anyone would be interested in this when I started it exactly a year ago but I’m glad that you’ve all enjoyed it – and that you stuck with it ‘til the end. I will be eternally grateful. 
> 
> Hahaha, with that... my fic is ended.


End file.
